


The Price of the Heart

by dairesfanficrefuge_archivist



Category: Highlander: The Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-30
Updated: 2000-12-16
Packaged: 2018-12-18 05:59:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 59,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11868141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist/pseuds/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist
Summary: Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived atDaire's Fanfic Refuge. Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDaire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile.





	1. The Price of the Heart: Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

The Price of the Heart Chapter 1 by DeborahC

_The Price of the Heart_

By Deborah D. Charlow 

_This story takes place a little over two years after the last episode of the 6th season. The movie "Endgame" does not figure into any aspect of the following._

* * *

**_Chapter 1_**

"Every time I look in the mirror   
All these lines on my face getting clearer   
The past is gone   
Isn't that the way   
Everybody's got their dues in life to pay" 

_"There are things in this world older and greater than us"_

Methos stepped into the surprise attack, with both hands on the grip, he swung upwards to parry the blow that nearly removed his head and then down and across to put a red strip on the attacker's chest. Now to finish him off. However, the heavy set man fast recovered and with unusual speed, a thrust and parry. The two swords rang out in harmonious anger. Methos was definitely off guard and struggled with the relentless offence, one blow after another. What the attacker lacked in finesse, he made up for in endurance and strength. 

Methos began to tire. Was this person an immortal? There was no sign. Yet, Methos knew the man's intent - his life in true peril. The sword that had served him so well felt pounds heavier and just lifting it became hard. Strike after strike, Methos retreated until he lost his footing and fell backwards over a piece of broken pavement. The man advanced with his blade raised but also tripped, giving Methos enough time, a split second, one serious thrust to the gut, and then with fierce instinct commanding, he rolled, stood, and severed the man's head. 

"I know nobody knows   
Where it comes and where it goes   
I know it's everybody's sin   
You got to lose to know how to win" 

A moment of stillness filled the air and he knew. The gathering storm filled Methos and racked his body with that unforgiving light. The ordeal finished. Methos retreated back out of the street light and into the deep night shadows. The echoing thunder still reverberated off the empty buildings and tore its way through space. Placing his back against the wet cold wall, he tried to regain his breath. It was raining hard now and what blood was on him, on the sword, on the street would be washed away into the river. He closed his eyes and wished he could disappear too. 

"Sing with me, sing for the years   
Sing for the laughter and sing for the tears   
Sing with me, if it's just for today   
Maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away" 

Suddenly, he became aware of the presence of another immortal. What was happening here? He realized he couldn't remain still. If not this new threat, perhaps someone else would come around to investigate the huge commotion of the intense quickening. Perhaps there was even a Watcher. Perhaps he would be recognized. He turned his head toward the left in an effort to look up the street and then down towards the river. Sheets of rain in the solitary street light made the surrounding area look surreal. "Steady," he told himself but he felt pinned to the spot with absolute terror. 

He was confused, cold, weakened and lost. Before the attack, he asked the taxi driver to remain while he sought out a man in the warehouse. The driver had taken off without his fare. Methos was beginning to think he was set up. But how could anyone know? Now he was in a strange city, in a dangerous area, a maze of decaying buildings and alleys. He ran the events over again in his mind. How could this be, an immortal without any warning? The panic subsided and he pushed off the wall and made his way up the street away from the river. 

"Dream on, dream on, dream on......." * 

It was near dawn when Methos approached the entrance to his hotel. He looked up at the towering façade and paused to straighten himself out, summoning what dignity he could, resembling more a drowned sailor than clientele. Quickly walking through the lobby, he checked his surroundings with a practiced eye but it seemed so much more urgent now. When he got to his room, Methos drew his sword to check every possible corner. He even looked up at the ceiling in the bathroom, remembering something from a spy film of long ago. When he was satisfied, he checked the lock on the door, undressed and fell into bed with his sword next to him and slept deeply. 

Later that afternoon, Methos changed his room to a different floor. He went out a side entrance to find a public phone. The evening rush hour was beginning to build as workers made their way home through the city streets. Every face he encountered looked as though it had some terrible surprise in store for him. A feeling of paranoia began to seep into his consciousness, and although it was this feeling that helped him survive all those many centuries, it now was excruciating. He was almost dizzy when he attempted to call Joe Dawson but there was no answer and he left a quick message. He was hoping that Joe could put some light on his latest adventure. 

He put the phone receiver down. "Time to cut your losses," he said to himself. "That's it. I'm gone." He crossed the street back to his hotel when suddenly he felt it. Not the overpowering buzz of other immortals, but something faint like a whisper or a warm breeze that was easy to miss, a subtle impression he learned to recognize. Quickly spinning around, he caught the glimpse of an elegant woman who stared at him through the pedestrian traffic. Remembered images piled one on top of another, buried safely long ago, now climbed into consciousness. Within a moment, he knew. He hadn't experienced that feeling in almost 800 years and the first time he felt it was over 2,000 years ago. "Julia," he silently intoned. 

* * *

_Flashback - A cloistered convent in northern Italy, 1257 AD_

Methos stands at a large ornate gate that separates him from a courtyard. He is speaking to a nun just on the other side with holy Mother Abbess standing a few feet nearby. The sun is shining hot and bright. He tries to touch her hand upon the gate but she pulls it away. 

"I've wanted to talk to you for so long. It's odd that I finally found you, Julia." 

"Methos, we haven't much time," she said as she looked back at the abbess. "I knew you were here." 

"Yes, Julia, the caretaker came for me." 

"I want to tell you, Methos, finally. Methos, you need to know how sorry I am for all that happened. It was never to have ended that way. I have spent the last one hundred years here in true contrition for all my sins and will spend another one hundred years if it please God." 

"Julia, it was a very, very long time ago. Things are now different. We need no such words. I am...satisfied to see you again and see that you are all right." His voice was a little too light to make Julia comfortable and she found he could still exasperate her patience. 

Julia pleaded, "Do I have your forgiveness, then?" There was silence. "Methos, do I have your forgiveness?" 

"Of course." Now his voice had become chilling. Actually, he did not know what to think of this sudden encounter, his mind assaulted with conflicting emotions which he had no desire to resurrect. Here was this woman, not pretty in the usual sense but still stunning, decorated in a brown nun's habit, protected by the iron gate. His desire for revenge, though almost forgotten, weighed like a cold stone in his heart. He wished he could possess her as he had once been possessed. He wanted her to know what he had known, if only for a moment. Bells began to sound which concluded their meeting. She silently despaired of the bad timing. 

"But there is more I need to say, more you need to know." Mother abbess cleared her throat. 

"But why? You have my absolution. What else would you have of me? I gave you all." 

She had only a second left and nothing more she could say that would buy back his heart with pity. 

"Peace be with you," she said. 

"And also with you." 

Julia turned and walked away but turned again only to see Methos disappear into the village. Nothing had been settled as she had hoped. Maybe it was time to let go. 

* * *

_The present – Cleveland_

Methos crossed back through the crowds and worked his way down toward her but not being able to get near before she disappeared. He thought to himself. "This is the woman who spent 200 years doing penance and now tries to have me whacked. She's taught her little cloaking device to others, then. This is just peachy." 

He raced down to the end of the block and climbed the stairs of a nearby building. He saw her enter a cab down the street. He did the same and found himself in the company of the driver who abandoned him the previous night. The driver hit his brakes when he recognized Methos. "Hey, man. I didn't see nothing, man. You look good." 

"What?" said Methos. "Never mind. You see that cab way down there?" 

"Yeah." 

"Well, you follow it, weasel." 

"Okay, okay." 

"But don't get close. Stay as far away as possible without losing it." 

Soon they were in a quieter part of town; large trees shaded either side of the street. Methos saw Julia get out of the cab and enter a modest apartment building. 

Methos barked at the driver, "Okay, speedo, pull over. We're going to sit here for a while. And turn off that meter. You owe me." 

The driver turned around. "The name is Ray." And I came back for you, only you weren't there. You don't sit still in that place. That's just asking for it. You got to keep moving, man. I figured you'd be tied up for a while. Hey, I thought that was you, there. You know, on the ground. But I didn't see _nothing,_ man." 

Methos shifted position in his seat to get a better view of the street. "What else _didn't_ you see....Ray?" 

"Well, I didn't see no light show, fireworks, lightening. That's when I headed back for you, but it started to rain so hard. Kind of unnatural like. And then, I didn't see that person on the ground. You know?" 

Methos started to relax a little bit. "I know," he said. "So, you should know this town pretty well? Right, then. Maybe you could tell me a few more things that you didn't see." 

"Man, I'm not going to help you hurt that lady or waste that lady. Or nothing like that." 

"No, you don't understand. I would really like to find out a little bit more so I can keep myself in one piece and that's the truth. Just self defense." 

Ray thought for a few moments. "Okay, what's the deal? I get paid first. I can't afford to just take time off.'' 

"Ray, all I want you to do is see when she comes and goes. I'm just going to have a look about when she's not there. Then, I'll leave and never, ever return to your fair city again. You have my word." 

"You're not going to rob her? I'm not an accessory. I ain't up for doing hard time." 

"No, absolutely not. You don't even go near her. If I get caught, I've never seen you in my life." 

"You got that right. I need two big ones. Okay?" 

Methos twisted in the seat. "Fine. You meet me at the Essex Hotel at 6 a.m. for the next 2 days. That should do it." 

Methos spent the time in his hotel room. Ray watched Julia's apartment building. It's not that Methos trusted the cab driver but he thought that given the circumstances, it was the best option for finding out why Julia had reappeared in his life. He was taking a big chance and he knew it. Ordinarily, he would have just run away to avoid any immortal but this was different. He was uneasy about not being able to feel the presence of another one of his kind, and another who almost ended his life. This time, he allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. Julia was the only other immortal in his long experience who could hide her immortal presence. She never would explain it to him and just dismissed his inquiries telling him he was out of line. He wracked his memory for some clue that might help him but all it did was to stir up horrors from his past. 

Ray showed up at 6 a.m. to get his money and reappeared at 10 p.m. to report what he saw. Julia would go out to work at 8:30 and return at 6 in the evening. Then she went out for about an hour and a half in the evening and returned by 9. He also gave Methos her apartment number. 

Methos had finally gotten a hold of Joe. Without much in the way of details, Joe could not provide him with any information. In fact, Joe didn't know of any immortal resembling Julia going back so many years but occasionally an immortal would pop up who might be her. Still, it was hard to tell. The fact that Methos was so vulnerable was unnerving to Joe. He didn't like this. 

On the third evening, Methos slipped up to the apartment and quickly picked the locked. Once inside he found a desk and a mountain of papers and files. It seemed Julia took a lot of work home with her and stored the details of her life in a random array of receipts and documents. He soon noted that she still went by the name he had first known her by, only changed slightly to accommodate modern times, Julia C. Teller rather than Julia Clodia Metella. He almost snorted with indignation that she would still not be ashamed to carry that name around. 

Carrying a handful of papers, he moved silently into the bedroom. He carefully maneuvered articles of clothing, knickknacks and shoes so as not to give away the fact that someone had intruded. He searched the closet and nightstand and came up with nothing. Bending down to look under the bed, he felt an uncomfortable pain in his left thigh and simultaneously, the latent, gossamer buzz. In a breath, he turned around, seriously disadvantaged on the floor, being hit several times with the flat side of broad sword. 

"You disgusting little worm," she yelled. 

"Julia, please." Whack. "We can talk." 

"You can't approach me honestly? You have to sneak in here and defile my home? How common, how vulgar!" she yelled. "You haven't changed. You weasel your way around now just like you could weasel then!" she cried emphatically. 

He couldn't get at his sword, it being under him and pinned down. She placed the tip of her sword on the right side of his neck just below his chin. "Julia," he said softly and mustered up the most soulful melting look in his repertoire. 

"Save it," she snapped. "We'll talk later. I'm late for my Tai Chi class. Sorry, _boy._ " She plunged the sword into his chest. 

"That was not necessary," he barely managed to say, trying to reach up. He didn't know what hurt more, sword or the word "boy". 

She had meant it to hurt. That was no slip of the tongue. Roman male slaves were referred to as "boy". 

* * *

_Paris –_

Joe had spent the last several months in Paris recuperating from a fall and pneumonia which had landed him in the Seine and then in the hospital. For a mortal, MacLeod could not think of anyone more tough and resilient. No high adventure this time, just a simple accident and Mac found himself constantly at Joe's side. And, of course Mac felt responsible as it was his tools, after all, that Joe had tried to avoid but the barge deck was icy and Joe was impatient to get inside. 

Now it was spring. Joe and Mac crossed paths at a local boulangerie "Got some time, Mac?" asked Joe. 

"Sure, what's up?" 

"Come on over and we'll discuss it over something to eat." 

At Joe's place, the two sat down. "You know I heard from Methos yesterday," Joe said. 

"Oh yeah?" said Duncan. "I haven't seen or heard from him in a couple of months. Said something about having to travel and start a new business or investments or something. I thought that would be different for him but then, what do I really know. He could have invented banking." 

"Well, I think our boy might be in some trouble." 

"Yeah..." 

"It seems he might have been set up. An immortal nearly took his head. An immortal without that warning you guys get." 

"Is he sure he was in his right mind? Joe, I've never heard of such a thing. Well, yes, maybe I have, the way the thing can vary from person to person but one has ever suggested I could control my presence." 

"That's what he says. I told him I'd try to see if I could find out anything for him. He's looking for a woman named Julia, daughter of Gaius Julius Metellus, but I haven't come up with anything. He sounded pretty upset about this. Actually, I think we're all in trouble if this is true. It'll change the rules." 

Suddenly, Duncan felt very tired and rubbed his forehead. "You know, Joe. I don't want to think about this." 

"What?" 

"No, really. I'm going home." 

"But we have to help him," Joe pleaded. "Something is just not right with him." 

"I don't want to deal with this. Not now." 

"Maybe Darius had some information, someplace. Some clues, some old books?" 

"I'll see you later, Joe." 

Duncan got up and moved out the door, quickly vanishing up the boulevard. Joe watched and without astonishment. It didn't take him long to realize something was going on in Duncan's head. He would know all about it within a short time. 

Oh, but life had just begun to feel good for Duncan. Now it was spring. Duncan had come to terms once again with his past and understood that it was time to turn a new page. He was just biding time until he figured on a new direction, a new breath of fresh air. He had earned it. Now Joe pops up with a new twist on the "game". He felt anger at Joe even though he knew it was misplaced. He loathed the game. He just wanted some time out, a chance to feel good again. His first impulse was to run, run before whatever Joe and Methos had stumbled on began to land on him like it surely would. The game was a dismally dark abyss. 

* * *

_Cleveland –_

That first resurrecting breath was sometimes a struggle for Methos. He never got used to it entirely. This time, it was even harder on him. He was lying on his side on the floor; feet, arms and neck tightly bound to the legs of a couch behind him. His eyes and mouth were covered. He could make no sound but to quietly groan his total confusion. Fear pressed on him like a cold weight. He was in a small space being pressed from the front also. Twisting and pulling on his restraints, he could not make them loosen. He began to think that someone had buried him and the idea nauseated him into a mindless panic. 

After a few minutes of struggling, he calmed down. He lay still and felt a breeze around his face. He could also smell potpourri, the same scent he noticed when he entered Julia's apartment. His relief was great but not yet complete. He mightily cursed himself for being so easily caught like a helpless little bird, like a brand new immortal. "How could I screw up like this?" he thought to himself. "And a second time!" 

The minutes dragged and after a half an hour the door opened and Julia strode in firmly. Then, like a cat she moved upon the sofa above where Methos was bound. She took a deep breath before starting the verbal game she knew she would have to play. Placing her sword upon his neck, she wanted to be sure he knew who had the upper hand, though hardly necessary. She was entirely unsure of herself and had assumed Methos wanted her head after a long, long time. 

"How could you still be alive? Look at you, like a fish in a barrel. You are mine," she said seriously. She pressed the sword down until he could feel the edge. He thought or hoped she wouldn't be crazy enough to take his head right in the middle of her apartment. 

"This is so sloppy of you," she said, "and rather not like you at all. In fact, I'm disappointed but more than that, I'm really, really angry." 

Julia reached down and tore the duct tape over Methos' mouth. He let out a small expletive. 

"Excuse me," said Methos, "but I'm only trying to protect myself." 

"And a damn fine job you're doing, too," she quickly inserted. "Well, then, just for the sake of wasting time, let me hear your excuse for having me followed and for breaking and entering." 

"Let me up. Julia, please." 

Julia removed the blindfold and Methos observed that he was sandwiched in between a couch and a couple of heavy trunks normally used as coffee tables. How practical, as always, he thought. He began his story of the past few nights and asked once again to be let up. "There that's it," he said. "You have the advantage. I want nothing more than to walk out of here." 

"Yes," she said, "with my head." Instinctively, Julia first thought was not to trust him but then she loosened the rough string around his neck. He couldn't remain in her living room forever. 

"Thank you," he said. 

She then untied his feet. "Let me tell, you Methos, I will kill you, if you so much as look at me wrong." Methos, as usual, took the path of least resistance and accommodatingly regarded the floor as she untied his hands and he climbed out of his narrow prison. "Sit, right there," she ordered. He placed himself upon one of the trunks opposite her and still held his eyes down solemnly. 

* * *

_Flashback - Transalpine Gaul, 201 BC_

The Horsemen had made one last stand and lost. Men no longer regarded the resurrection of the four as a miracle to be feared but saw it more like a trick or parlor game. Kronos had over used it and the effect had worn away the credibility and the terror it once inspired. The Horsemen parted company. It was all played out and they knew it. Times were changing. Methos had moved on beyond the grasp of Kronos and skillfully allied himself with another, one more powerful. He exulted in his new freedom. 

Methos still had a reputation as a ferocious warrior and fair leader and managed to garner a patchwork company of about 5,000 Celts who hated Rome. He offered his services to Hannibal who was making his way along the coast from Spain into Gaul and then over the mountains to eventually attack Rome. Hannibal was more than happy to have the reinforcements, constantly harassed by local tribes in the north of Italy. Methos soon ingratiated himself with the great general and helped him plan the battles that won Hannibal the long-lived reputation as a bold strategist. 

All had gone well with the campaign to bring Rome down until Scipio Africanus pulled a fast one and invaded Carthage itself. Hannibal was forced to give up the hard fought Italian campaign and sailed back to unsuccessfully defend his home. On the battlefield, Methos divested himself of all regalia that would indicate his rank. He would be a common foot soldier rather than a trophy to be paraded around Rome, ceremoniously strangled in front of cheering ignorant crowds and then have his head placed on view in the Forum. 

In the confusion of battle, he slowly made his way through an embankment of trees. The smell of blood and earth and fire swept the desert air. The noise of the dying filled his head, broken men and screaming horses, but he could still revel in the exhilaration and glory of battle. Looking for an opportunity to escape the lost engagement, he moved to get to the other side of a nearby rise, then he would be free of the conflict. Unfortunately, several of Hannibal's men recognized him and quickly dispatched him on the spot, thinking him a spineless deserter. Methos fell into the sparse scrub hoping that Hannibal would not hear of this. 

The battle of Zama had ended. The Romans took the most elegant city in the Mediterranean. Hannibal defeated, was forced to compromise. He, however, escaped the humiliation usually accorded the losers through the great admiration Scipio had for him. A minor fine was imposed on Carthage and it wasn't until the Third Punic War that the city saw the wrath of Rome burn it to the ground. 

The stragglers, looters, and assorted vultures were scouring the battlefield for whatever they could take when life returned to Methos. His first breath caught the slavers by surprise. Instead of looking at a corpse, they saw a healthy young man unsteadily raise himself off the ground. They smiled broadly. Methos had fought them off with every bit of strength he could command. He put up a good fight but was soundly beaten and tied down for his trouble. 

He thought if he could goad them enough, the slavers would simply run him through to have done with him. But, ah, the slavers were worldly fellows and had heard and seen it all. They certainly were not about to let some ready money slip through their fingers. Having owned many slaves in his time, Methos should have known better. 

The long journey back to Italy took its toll on many of the poor souls who accompanied Methos. He could not help hoping that there would be some way out, even if it meant his own actual death. Because he had behaved so badly, he was quickly sold to the mines. A more miserable existence could not be imagined. He lived entirely outdoors with only the merest rag for cover. The other slaves decided that he was high born, observing his speech and mannerism and thought it would be amusing to remove his pride with unspeakable acts. 

To make matters worse, the overseer in charge of Methos' chained group was an immortal and would make sure Methos could not escape or secure a sharp object in order to behead himself or anyone else. This meant that Methos had very limited mobility, hands being chained to feet, but he still was expected to produce. He died numerous times from exhaustion. When having seen this, his chained companions shrunk back in terror to be so close to one who had been thus cursed that even sweet death would not free him. Only then, did they leave him alone. 

The overseer, Athos, was a tall, spare man, with light colored hair, who was hard to distinguish from the slaves. He could be enormously cruel when it suited him and never hesitated to use the lash. When Methos slipped into oblivion, Athos would talk warmly and calmly to Methos until he returned and bathed his forehead with cool water. Athos spoke in an old form of Illyrian, the elegant language of Methos' childhood. This seemed especially cruel to Methos because for a very short time, he felt safe until he realized where he was. 

The other slaves would die with regularity so Methos would avoid making any kind of contact and in return they did their best to avoid him. While most slaves lasted a mere two years or so, Methos had worked in the mines for over eight. After some time, Methos lost all sense of himself, who he was, what he was. His only comfort was to slip into death for a short while or to sleep like the dead. There was nothing else. 

One day, a group of slaves were being exchanged to open up a new section of mine. Methos had to move across the country to another side of the mines which involved following a route through a small town. He had been chained at the end of the line where Athos could get a clear shot at his back with the lash. It had not been a particularly good day for Athos and he was taking it out on his charges. Despite the repeated hits, Methos failed to respond to Athos' insults, which only infuriated the overseer all the more. 

Methos, who had learned to keep his eyes fixed upon the ground, dared to look up at Athos and grabbed his whip and pulled him off his horse in front of many people. The man was so humiliated that he nearly exploded with rage. Methos could do nothing but smile and said, "Help me." He knelt on the ground expecting more than the usual blows. It was then that Athos turned around quickly sensing the presence of another immortal. A well-dressed citizen had directed two attendants to buy Methos right from the chain line. At first, Athos assured them that Methos was ungovernable, an animal, but gold prevailed and before he knew it, Methos was on his way to another life. 

Athos was right about one thing. Methos had become more like an animal. He held his eyes to the ground but only to avoid the lash. If asked to speak, he snarled his replies. He was put into a small room with some clean straw and water but avoided it. He held his back to the wall, crouching. This was the first time he had actually been indoors since he started working at the mines. He didn't want to even think of what might be in store for him; he just hoped they would not make too much sport of him and quickly would take his head. 

After a while, the door was opened and a lady appeared with two armed attendants. Methos could not tell for sure, but he thought that she was an immortal. He only had a slight stirring of recognition. He backed into a corner. "I was the one who insisted that my husband buy you. I am Julia, the lady of this house. My husband is Gaius Publius, an important man in this town. You are most fortunate that we came upon you. How are you called?" Silence. She repeated gently. 

"I am Methos, son of....., I can't remember, Lady." 

"You mean you don't know," she added. 

"I cannot remember," he hissed. " It has been a long time." Julia could see rage in his face and thought he was unduly angry. He looked as though he could pounce on her at any moment. 

She inquired, "How long have you been in the mines?" 

"I can not say for sure, Lady." 

"I see. Methos, my servants will remove your chains. You will eat and rest for a while, then I shall see you later." 

"May I speak, Lady?" 

"Yes." 

"My lady, will you be taking my head?" he inquired matter of factly but with a touch of insolence. 

The two servants looked at each other with blank expressions. The woman winced a bit knowing it was a legitimate question from the slave but hardly appropriate in front of the other servants. This was the start of many parries designed to put her on the spot. 

"No, Methos. You will be of no use without a head." She turned away and left with an inkling she might have gotten more than she originally thought. 

The servants returned with food and wine. "I don't like my wine watered down!" Methos yelled. 

"That is because you are a barbarian pig!" returned the larger of the two. "My master says you are to be clean and presentable when I take you to him." He grabbed Methos by his matted mane and pulled him out the door to a pool where he was unceremoniously relieved of his smelly rags and plunged into cold water. Still in a state of confusion, Methos fought the bath like a cat until the servants subdued him. 

"If I were my master, I would not waste time on a fool," said the big servant. Eventually, Methos was brought before Publius and Julia in a pleasant atrium of the house. Everyone else was dismissed. Publius caressed the grip of his sword. 

The couple sat in cushioned chairs next to a fountain chatting between themselves. A pleasant late afternoon breeze flowed through the open space disguising the fact that the world was not altogether lovely. Publius took a sip of wine from a finely wrought cup and regarded his latest purchase. He, being a person with a shrewd eye, thought he might make something of this long thin specimen. 

Publius himself was actually part of the equites class and no patrician but nevertheless, desired to live well. A rather short and plump man, he just missed the five-foot mark. His balding pate was rimmed with dark curls. He had an infectious smile, always eager to laugh and occasionally displayed a ribald sense of humor that could make a whore blush. He was well liked by just about everyone. His wife Julia was the singular epitome of a Roman matron. A handsomely beautiful woman, she was the envy of many married men. Conservative and deferring, she nonetheless ran her household like a general. She was also absolutely devoted to her husband. Since the two knew that they would not be able to have children, they adopted several. And since they knew they could not have children, they did not share a bed for a Roman man did not lust after his wife. That's what the mistresses and streetwalkers were for. 

Since seeing Methos through the crowd in the early morning, Julia's heart went out to him, especially when she sensed his immortal presence. She had a terribly big soft spot for mistreated creatures and knew she had to have him and thought she could put him to good use. She also expected Methos to be grateful for taking him away from the mines. He, on the other hand, expected nothing more than to be a night's humiliating entertainment for the rich man. Methos could see himself displayed like some sort of trophy in a tableau while the rich man takes his head and survives the quickening to the guests' total amazement. It would then be an easy declaration to say that the rich man had the special favor of Zeus himself, blessed by lightening. How his standing in the community would increase! How far his political ambitions would advance! Methos had certainly known of such spectacles occurring before. 

Publius had no such ideas. Although he enjoyed the friendship and respect of many, he felt it best to keep a low profile. He avoided politics and acted as tribune only once because he thought it a duty to the Republic and he took that _gravitas,_ or sense of duty, very seriously. Putting on shows was not his style as it would make him more of a target. He was most content with the way things were. He bought Methos only to please Julia. 

Now Methos stood before them in utter despair and desperation. Though neat and tidy, he now had a new shiny bronze collar, declaring him to be the property of Publius. The clean tunic he sported was a bit on the short side and he felt ridiculous. Blood pounded in his head. His anxiety was plain to see. He tried only to think of the past glories of his three thousand years. Finally, after what seemed to be a very long time, they spoke to him. 

"Boy," said Publius, "are you not happy to be away from the mines?" He continued, "We shall set you to some simple tasks and see how you do. If you can not adjust to the house, we will certainly send you back. Does that sound fair to you?" 

In a low voice, Methos replied, "Master, you are not going to take my head?" 

"Why, no. Only if I must, you see." 

"Methos," Julia continued on, " I told you that before. You shall see that I mean what I say." 

Testing the waters, Methos lifted his head and looked directly at them. "Master," he said, "might you give me my freedom instead?" The pair was shocked and affronted. 

"You ungrateful dog!" cried Publius. I have invested a great deal of money in you! Twice what I should have paid at an open market. I tell you this much, boy, do not try me." 

"But I am an immortal." 

"So that means....what? Or perhaps I should fear you. Boy, fate has ruled your destiny; you are a slave for as long as I will it. That is the way things are. Maybe.... maybe someday, you can buy your freedom but you are a far cry from that. You strike at my very heart, boy." 

"You do not need to fear me, Master. Nor your lady." Methos now could see how things stood. His mind began to work. 

Methos was sent back to the small room and was put under lock and key. He, however, didn't mind. He wasn't shackled to anyone and he had a bed of soft straw rather than hard earth. He was alone for the first time in eight long years. He could stretch out, an unfathomable luxury only the night before. If he could have more of this, he would bide his time, compromise his independence, and live without conflict. Besides, it would be difficult to get away, at least until he gained their trust. 

At dawn the next day, Methos stood with the rest of the household while Publius made an offering to Vesta at the family altar. He had been fairly unfamiliar with the details of Roman life but now was getting a fast education. He was assigned a few uncomplicated chores at which he was clumsy. His frustration led to anger and several outbursts, but Julia knew instinctively that after the long hardships and the constant repair his body endured, that it would be best if she went easy on him for a while. The other slaves and servants took notice of these indulgences and one or two tried to get him into trouble but Julia expected this. Soon he had gained back his strength and looked quite healthy. The routine became easier. 

The three children were introduced to Methos. Two sons of fifteen and thirteen met him first. They were adopted but resembled their parents enough that no one questioned their parentage. Publius was ever so proud of them and they in return honored their father. The third was a little girl of three who had no reservations about approaching the tall man and quickly made friends. The little child with the golden curls enchanted Methos and his reaction surprised himself very much. He still thought he was a warrior but then, he thought again. He bent down to greet the little girl but quickly shot a look at her parents standing close by. The child, Publia, would be, if things went as usual, an immortal. 

As time went on, Methos' duties expanded and the lady of the house found he could be relied upon to solve many mundane difficulties on a daily basis. Ever so slightly and gradually, he lost the roughness of the mines. He then found himself engaged in philosophical conversations with Julia and Publius that lasted far into the night. During these talks, he was treated like an equal though the couple had never intended to do so. Methos found out that Publius had been immortal only for some twenty-five years but Julia was near a thousand. Julia was the teacher of Publius and wanted nothing more than to continue their happy alliance. 

One day, Methos was caught giving help to the two the sons with their schoolwork in geometry. Methos was also fluent in a number of languages including Greek, which was a highly prized asset for a slave to possess. It was then decided that his primary function would be the education of the children, a position with which he was not altogether comfortable. 

Methos also assumed that education would also mean learning how to fight. He told the boys, who up till then, had received rather mediocre instruction in this area, to get a pair of swords which they anxiously did. He took the sword in his hand and coldly regarded the two children standing before him. He felt the weight and the balance. He took a deep breath. 

That evening, the boys happily told their father all the new and wonderful things they had learned. Publius' face turned white and stormed into the room with a _gladius_ where Methos was helping another slave. Methos' astonished reaction was to place a table between himself and Publius. The boys, who were already taller than their father, held on to him protesting. 

"Master," cried Methos, "what have I done?" 

"You know well a slave is to touch no weapon." 

"You asked me to educate your boys. That was my charge and I carried out your will." 

"You have taken your duties too far," yelled Publius cutting the air. 

"Father," said the eldest calmly, "Methos knows many things. He knows about how to fight and showed us more in one day than all we had learned before." 

"Master," said Methos, "your sons are almost men and as I understand, will have to serve in the army. They need to be taught well." 

Publius saw that he had little argument left other than to admonish Methos about their safety. "Everyone's safety," he then added looking Methos straight in the eye. He turned to leave pushing the boys out the door first. "See to it, boy, you also teach Publia as well." 

Methos smiled. "As you wish." 

For a moment, Methos thought about the havoc he could have created earlier but didn't think there would be any advantage to it. Besides, he had no quarrel against the two youngsters; they had always treated him well, actually with respect, not usually accorded one in his position. He loved their ravenous appetite for learning and told them many stories of ancient Egypt and of Troy. The little girl enchanted him. It had been a long time since he was near pure innocence. A new thought occurred to him. He was no longer Death. Death was lost in the mines. There was no connection between the killer and the teacher now and that was fine with him. 

Methos found himself with more students, friends of the Master and their children. Methos was well paid and took that money and invested it in wine and oil shipments. The gods were with the cargo and Methos made a lot of money. He soon was advising Publius. The more freedom Publius gave to Methos, the more he could get around. The more he could get around, the more information he could use for investing. A slave could dig into places that a citizen couldn't. 

As time went on, Methos was also managing all of Publius' financial affairs. The one drawback to that situation was that Methos could no longer buy his freedom as slaves who did this kind of work for their masters knew too much. They were slaves for life but Methos didn't care. He certainly lived a better life than most freemen knew and a freed slave had almost no standing in the community, even though they could become very wealthy. Methos' little room became more comfortable, furnished with fine things and the fact that he had a choice of three concubines didn't bother him, either. Other slaves in the household were not as fortunate and lead very different lives. They slept wherever there was an empty place. Publius even had one to sleep at the threshold of his chamber door like a watchdog. 

Methos acquired several farms and a fine house in Rome for Publius. This required Publius to be more in the public eye. He was reluctantly elected to serve several political posts at which he did quite well. Starting to enjoy his new popularity, Publius began to get a bit sloppy. He also was now making enemies as well as friends. 

Julia enjoyed seeing her man happy and content but she could also see the possibility of things going terribly wrong if Publius maintained this very public image. She walked the corridors of her new estate restlessly, fussing over minor details. She wanted to reason with Publius but he would not hear of any of her thoughts or misgivings. Finally, she commanded Methos to make an appearance. Methos was taken aback somewhat by the formality and tried to be more familiar. 

"Methos," she said firmly, "I am thinking that we live much too openly. It makes me uncomfortable. All this," she said as she waved her hand, " will be our destruction if you do not advise your master to sell some of this property off. You are the only one he listens to." 

"Julia," he said blithely. Lightening raged in her eyes. Methos caught himself, sensing this conversation was different. "Lady, all this will pass one day. We will have to move on. But in the meantime, we can enjoy ourselves." His voice was condescending. 

"You are quite an ass for a smart man. I don't believe I have been around as long as you. You never did tell me exactly how old you are. Never mind, but, I have been around long enough to know better." She was yelling now. "You advise Publius not to run for the Senate. You tell him to sell this awful house." Methos began to tell her how her position in society would advance but she cut him off. 

"Do you think I would trade this house or connections for my husband's head? I am not so shallow as to take that risk and risk the future of my children. I will do anything for him and for them. Anything!" 

"But Lady, I can see a way where we can have it both ways. If you'll listen to me..." 

She was livid. "Let me remind you of an important fact, boy." That rather hurt him. She had always called him by his name. "Publius gave you to me. Remember? You are mine! You do as I command." 

Methos looked at the floor. "Yes, Lady," he said deliberately. She realized that she should soften her words and he might be more amenable. 

"Methos, look at me. Please." She wanted to go to him, to put her arms around him, and perhaps have a good cry. Suddenly, however, she felt desperate as if some corner had been turned and she was helpless to control anything now. Events would start to unravel. 

"Methos, look at me," she repeated. He fixed his gaze firmly down. After several moments, she decided not to push this game. "Get out," she said. 

* * *

_The present_

"Methos, what are you doing?" Julia set her sword aside and leaned forward. She gently held his chin in her hand and lifted his face. "It's alright. Look at me," she said. "I am no patrician's daughter now. Look around." 

Methos' face held a profound sadness. "There was so much, so much damn stuff. It all really came back," he said. 

"I don't want your head. I don't want anybody's head," she said. "I don't run into immortals around here. For fifteen years, it's been nice and quiet for me. Truce. OK?" 

"OK. Interested in something to eat?" 

"Sure and we're going to have the talk we should have had. We're overdue," she said. 

* * *

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapters 7 & 8   
Author's Notes 

* Lyrics from Aerosmith's "Dream On". 

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

11/30/2000 

Background by Daire 

* * *


	2. The Price of the Heart: Chapter 2

The Price of the Heart Chapter 2 by DeborahC

_The Price of the Heart_

By Deborah D. Charlow 

* * *

**_Chapter 2_**

_"Sometimes they stay dead; sometimes they don't."_

A Bar In The City 

John Dorsett had a big mouth. A really big mouth. Such an attribute was an unfortunate trait for a Watcher to possess. He just couldn't keep from telling his new best friend, Ellery Fox, a lawyer, about immortals. Dorsett had recently witnessed the death of his very first field assignment down by the warehouses and docks. He was excited as he relayed the information to Fox before he reported it to the Watchers. Fox soaked up every tiny detail but feigned disbelief and dismissed the encounter with a patronizing smile. 

"Maybe," Fox said, "I could go with you. Next time." 

"Sure," said Dorsett. He was totally unaware of Fox's real attitude or intentions. "Hey, then you'll see. Besides, I would like some company. As a rule, you know, there are no quickenings. It's just a lot of coming and going, everyday stuff, but who knows what could happen. I think they might reassign me to this other guy, the one who took my assignment's head. A real brutal lowlife, a monster, really." 

"Cripes," said Fox. "This sounds like dangerous work. What is it worth to you?" 

"Hell, yeah," Dorsett said with a hint of bravado, "it's dangerous but the pay is great and I get to travel. I just came back from Bangkok, watching my assignment, my late assignment." Dorsett chortled in his beer. " I guess I better report in. They don't even know I left Thailand." 

Fox sat alone at the table while Dorsett made his call. He leaned back, occasionally taking stock of his surroundings, nursing his drink and swirling the ice cubes. He could remember a time when ice was brought down from the mountains, cooling the drinks of the enormously wealthy, emperors and such. Now he could have ice anytime and a lot of other things. 

He maintained a successful practice but needed some time away when he ran into Dorsett. He couldn't believe that a man like Dorsett could get into the Watchers. He figured the guy either must have had somebody owing him a really big favor or more likely, he was someone's relation. Fox recognized the tattoo on Dorsett's wrist immediately. It had been a long time since he had seen a Watcher. 

In fact, he wasn't sure that the organization had existed anymore. Several years ago, a large number of key members had been murdered at the same time and totally upset the whole organization. He guessed correctly that they were back in business, the creeping bastards. The fact that there were renegades in the organization didn't surprise him in the least. He didn't have any use for Watchers. They watched him at his trial during the Inquisition. They watched him as the Abwehr interrogated him just outside of Auschwitz. They watched him as a street gang in LA threw him off a tall building. They watched him fight for his life and watched while those he loved died. They knew everything about him, watched, and did nothing. 

He was leading a quiet life here in this city. He knew of no other immortals, which happily meant there were probably no Watchers, either. He had eluded them, at least for a while. He neither had been aware of Julia nor ever known her personally. Their paths had never crossed. Now Dorsett was in town and Fox was lucky to have the upper hand. 

"You coming?" Dorsett reentered the room. "I'm going to check up on our boy. He had a date tonight. He just left the restaurant down the block." They got into Dorsett's car followed at a great distance behind Julia. 

"Who's this he's with?" asked Fox. 

"I don't know, some woman he apparently spent some time stalking," Dorsett responded. 

"You think he might hurt her? Maybe we should call the police?" Fox said with some concern. 

"We watch, we don't interfere," Dorsett said dispassionately. 

Fox's blood rose to his face. "Even though someone innocent dies." 

"Yeah, absolutely. And, no one is innocent. You haven't been around much for a lawyer." There had been a noticeable change in Dorett's demeanor. The scatterbrain started to resemble a hungry wolf. He was no novice at following, either. 

* * *

At the restaurant, Methos and Julia talked over some the more pleasant aspects of their past and caught up on the present. Julia's two boys grew into fine men and lived a long life with many offspring whose descendants still populated much of Italy. Publia had become immortal after a violent accident involving runaway horses and an overturned wagon. Julia still kept in touch with Publia, now calling herself Marie, who lived in a suburb outside of Brussels. Unfortunately, once Methos had left the family, much of what Publius had built slowly eroded. By the time Sulla had come to power, Publius had inadvertently become entangled in the ferocious politics of the times. Publius was still a man of the Republic but the rest of Rome, with a few exceptions, had just begun to sink into those events that would give it to dictators and then to emperors. Sulla took Publius' head and stuck it on a pike in the Forum along with 5,600 other so-called enemies of the state, senators and businessmen. She still missed him. 

Julia drove Methos back to his hotel and they said their good-byes. She was a curator and would be in Paris in a few days to put the finishing touches on an exchange exhibition between the Musee D'Orsay and the Cleveland Museum of Art. She would look Methos up and afterwards would spend a few well deserved days off with Publia in Brussels. Neither Julia nor Methos ever came near the subject of why he had left the old family. They were just not ready to talk about that yet. Moreover, Methos wanted to leave Cleveland. Someone was still after his head and he'd sooner run for more familiar turf. 

Methos was feeling a bit mellow when he entered the hotel and decided to go down to the parking garage in the basement and grab the CD player from his rented car. It was parked fairly close to elevators; at least he thought so. He had forgotten he'd moved it over a row, closer to the stairs. He now had to search a bit. 

Suddenly, he became aware of another immortal. Backing up against a concrete support, he drew his sword and waited. Bzing! A quiet bullet entered the side of his leg just above his knee. A second later, another entered his side just below his heart. Methos slid to the ground as he started to go into shock. His body became wet with perspiration but he firmly held onto his sword defensively. Dorsett walked up to him and looked down on what he thought resembled a wounded animal. He kept his distance. Over his shoulder, he called to Fox. 

"Hey, look at this." 

"What happened to all that crap about not interfering?" demanded Fox looking down at Methos. 

"No, just wait. You've got to see this." Methos' sword slipped to the ground as he gasped for air and then all was quiet. 

"Big surprise, you shot him; now he's dead." 

"Nah," said Dorsett, "he'll wake up." 

"And then what? He's seen you. He's seen me." 

"And then, I'll pop him again and cut off his head." 

"No," Fox said. "I don't think you will." He drew his sword and ran Dorsett through efficiently. Dorsett turned and fired off on shot grazing Fox's right shoulder before dying. "Son of a bitch," Fox said through clenched teeth as he got up to get Dorsett's car. He stood over Methos trying to revive him, but couldn't. He picked him and threw him in the back seat. He put Dorsett into the trunk and sped off. 

Fox turned up his driveway and parked the car at the back of the house. It was very dark there and a fog had moved in. Methos was still not yet awake as Fox placed him on a couch in his den. He was pacing the floor thinking about his next move when Methos began to breathe again. Methos was stunned by the pain he was in. Fox pulled up a chair. 

"How are you doing?" asked Fox. 

"Not too well," said Methos. "What happened? Who are you?" 

"Well, right now, I'm Ellery Fox. Have been for about the last twenty years. Just call me Fox, the first name is a long story." Fox stuck out his hand to shake. 

"Do I know you?" Methos inquired. 

"My given name was Negazwe but that's kind of a mouthful." Methos recognized the language, his original tongue. Ironically, it meant "he who cannot perish." Within a split second Methos knew he was talking to Athos. 

" _Matella!_ " Methos said in Latin, "chamber pot!" "Now what?" as he lay back down. 

Fox smiled. "I deserve that, I'll grant you, but for now, you do nothing. And, nice to see you, too, Methos. Tomorrow, you go back to from wherever you came. I think it would be best, don't you?" 

"You mean to say you plan to help me?" Methos wanted to know. 

"I just saved your miserable life. Let's just say I feel like I need to do a little reparation, if it's okay. Otherwise, you can leave anytime." 

"You killed that guy, didn't you?" Methos wanted to know. Fox nodded affirmatively. "What was he?" asked Methos. 

Fox told him. "That excuse for a human being was a Watcher." 

"What! I thought they had disappeared," Methos lied. 

"No, my naïve friend, he was not only a Watcher but a renegade. He had plans on cutting off your head. I didn't think that was such a good idea. Damn impractical from where I was. I would have gotten your quickening and then he, when he put two and two together, would have taken mine. You know he phoned in a report on you. He'd been watching the guy you killed down in the warehouse area. He described you as a monster and into stalking women. I can't imagine you stalking women." 

"That's just great. And no, I don't stalk women." 

Methos tried to stand up but was unable to do so. Both of them thought he should be better off by now. At least three hours had gone by. "Where's my sword?" 

"Right over there by the chair, okay? You better stay put for a while. Can I get you anything?" Methos wanted to know if Fox had anything in the way of a painkiller. 

"I've never needed one before, at least not for physical pain, but I'd like to try it. It's real bad." 

Fox came back with aspirin. "Sorry, that's all I got. I keep it here for guests." 

"Good. I'll be fine," said Methos. 

"Hey," said Fox, "I'll be going out for a while. I've got some details I need to clean up. Help yourself to the fridge. There's brandy in the kitchen. _Domus meum est domus tuus._ I'll be back as soon as I can." 

During the night, Methos tried to get up. He couldn't understand why the pain was still with him or why the wounds hadn't completely healed. All he did know was that he never should have been in this situation. He looked over the house, a small but comfortable Arts and Crafts structure, simply and sparsely furnished. Old orientals, a Heriz and Sarouk, covered the hardwood floors. Old landscapes hung on the walls. Was that a Turner above the stone fireplace? It was hard to see in the dim light and Methos did not want to turn on any switches. 

The den walls were crammed with books of all kinds. Several fine looking swords graced the walls and there were bows, a Turkish recurve that could launch an arrow for more than a mile, a mighty English long bow with a 125 pounds pull, and a few others, Native American among them. He felt a bit of envy. All of his possessions could fit into a dozen boxes, a necessity for quick departures, which seemed all too frequent. Fox had found a very comfortable niche without having to live in extreme caution. 

It was near dawn when Fox returned. Methos was standing but he could not walk without a pronounced limp. He used the sword for support and held a hand upon the wound in his side. Fox entered cautiously. He looked at Methos and gathered that Methos could not raise his sword even if he wanted to. 

"Hey, watch that thing on the floor. I just had them done." Fox thought he looked like hell. "What's going on with you. Do you always take this long to heal up?" 

"No," said Methos. "I don't know what is happening. I feel like shit." 

"Listen, where are you headed?" 

"Paris." 

"Okay, I'll take you to the airport. That's good, yes, I mean you don't have to drive any distance." 

"Car, I've a rented car," Methos said almost running out of breath. 

"Okay, okay. Here's what we'll do," Fox said as Methos sat down and listened with difficulty. "I'll drive you to the hotel. Check out. Then I'll drive you out to the airport in the car. I'll take care of it." 

Methos looked at him for a few seconds. "Why are you, of all people, doing this? If you are going to take my head, why don't you just do it instead of playing this sick game?" 

"You're not a very trusting soul, are you?" asked Fox. 

Methos replied, "You didn't get to be as old as you are by being friends with the whole world." 

"No, said Fox, "but you don't have any choice." Methos just sighed. "Besides, how many people do I know in my own age bracket? How many people do you know? How many people do you know who are even half your age? This has sort of become a matter of some importance to me." 

"What about the game? Don't you want the prize?" 

"Game be damned," Fox spat out. "What good would it be to have it and be all alone. Alone forever. I think it's insane. I don't need it and I don't want it. I'd rather be dead." 

The two sat without talking for a while. It had begun to rain and the sound of it on the roof calmed the room. Methos leaned back on the couch and slept. Fox looked at him for a while, sizing up the situation, wondering if he were doing the right thing. He felt a need to help but would all of this lead to additional trouble? Then, quickly he got up and went to his room and crawled into bed with gun and sword beside him. It had been a long night. 

When Methos awoke, Fox had just finished making some scrambled eggs. "Here, come sit down," he said to Methos. The pain of the previous night wore off but he still wasn't feeling his usual self. He moved slowly to the table. 

"Thank you." 

Fox smiled. "Oh, you must be feeling better." Methos did not smile back. He had lost control over his life and had to place himself in the hands of one for whom he had known nothing of but hate. "I understand this is more than awkward for you but it will be okay," said Fox, "you'll see." 

"You understand?" Methos broke in. "Athos, how could you know anything?" 

"Well, I do. And please, my name is Fox, not Athos. Athos was a name given to me by my master because he liked Greek sounding names. I was a soldier, same as you. I was captured and worked in that mine, same as you. One day, a child of the master had been visiting the mine with him. The kid slipped off a cliff and I caught him in my arms. The master gave me my freedom for that. Some freedom. The master was now my patron and I was his client. I had to show up at his door every morning to express my appreciation. Overseeing that mine was the only job I could get in that town; he made sure of that." 

"But you could have left?" said Methos. 

"There was a girl, a mortal in the next town I met. I fell in love and I promised I would buy her freedom so I stayed with the mine until I could earn enough. But it took so long, too long." The pain in Fox's voice was evident. "If a block broke, it came out of my pay. If I didn't meet a deadline, it came out of my pay. It took forever to get enough. The day finally came when I could offer to buy the girl and when I got there, I found she had been beaten to death the previous day for breaking a clay pot....a clay pot!" He paused a moment, seeing the past in his mind then continued. "That was the day you pulled me off the horse. I was going to beat you into the ground and then take your head and I didn't care who saw it." 

"But then fate intervened," said Methos. 

"Yes, fate." Fox mused for a few seconds with a sad smile on his face. "You know," he went on, tipping back in his chair, "I used to see you in the town now and then. You looked a pompous ass." 

Methos cracked a smile. He pictured himself in his fine clothes, busy running here and there with his own slave in tow. "You know," said Fox, "at the tavern, we used to call you 'lap dog' because of that woman who bought you." 

"You knew about her?" Methos asked. 

"Cripes, Methos, the whole town knew. But I'll say one thing; you were certainly worth the price they paid for you. You made those people wealthy. You knew what you were doing and you did it well. You probably did other things well, also." 

Methos could see what he meant. "I never got to first base, Fox. Things just weren't that way." 

"Oh?" 

"I couldn't. It was just too dangerous. And, she never seemed interested. We were more like friends." 

"Friends. Really. She owned you!" 

Methos changed the subject. "So what do you do now, Fox?" 

"Well," he answered, "I'm a lawyer. And, by the way, I've heard every lawyer joke there is in the last one hundred and fifty years. I had wanted to be a lawyer ever since I heard Cicero speak. Finally got the chance and took the bar in 1850 in Massachusetts. I ran for the U.S. Senate and had the distinction of being pounded by Representative Preston Brooks of South Carolina with a walking stick on the Senate floor. I was a dirty low-down abolitionist, you see. You know, Methos, people don't seem to think slavery exists anymore. People are still born into it and die in it. People bought and sold every day of the week. Nobody seems to yell much about that. I know that seems crazy considering the way I treated you but I hate slavery, Methos. Just as much now as then." 

"So then, why did you-treat me that way?" 

"Part of the job but more than that, I saw too much of myself in you and I hated what I saw. Guess I thought I could get rid of the demons that way." 

"That usually doesn't work." 

"Much has changed, Methos. I have changed. I would like to try to make it up to you." 

"No, you don't." 

"But, yes, I do." 

"So now you're this big crusader for truth and justice?" Methos said sarcastically. 

"Not much of one any longer. I've made a lot of enemies in my forty-five hundred years and probably more in the last fifty than all the time before. I just try to stay out of the way. Life's been good here. No immortals, no Watchers, no excitement, at least until you showed up. A little lonely but I don't get hurt and nobody else does either." 

"Tell me something, Fox. You knew my language. Or was I just imagining that?" 

"Oh well," said Fox, feeling a little uneasy about that subject. "Oh, it's just that I heard you speak it when you were, uh, delirious. That was my language, too." 

"Do you remember much? Of that time?" 

Fox got up with a glass of orange juice in his hand, and moved to a bay window that looked down on a spring garden. "I remember quite a bit, a lot of bits and pieces. It mostly will come back to me in dreams. It was a violent time in a lovely land." 

* * *

_Flashback - North of the Dalmatian Coast - 2466 B.C._

Negazwe looked down below at his village that cradled itself along the Mountain of the Bear. The late afternoon sun cast a glow that made the whole world seem tranquil. He would need to run very fast beyond the other side of the valley to attract the attention of the invaders and hopefully lead them away and into the ambush. He had been especially chosen for this task and he was happy to sacrifice himself so that his village might continue. The war lust was upon him and he spared no energy in getting to enemy. He had his spear with the new bronze point, a good flint knife that belong to his father, and the shield painted bright red and white, the colors of his family. 

As he headed down the steep path, he cut the invaders off, a painted group of twenty or so on horseback, and ran in the opposite direction. As he and the whole village hoped, they pulled up short and started the chase after him. He held his own until they reached the spot where all the warriors of the village came down upon them with arrows and spears. He fought as well as any man there, even though some had thought him a coward. Was he not the foundling, the stranger among them? His eldest brother, Prio, never let him forget. Now he would prove his valor. He thought he even might survive this battle. He would show them all that he was worthy as any in the village and had a right to sit in on the councils. 

He had taken down two warriors and picked up one of their axes with a bronze head and swung it for the first time. How mighty a thing to wield and with a little bit of luck, he took down a third warrior. His victory was quickly stolen when a great sharp jab in his back took his breath away. The close force knocked him to his knees. Negazwe reached and pulled the arrow out but the point remained as it was suppose to. He saw everything start to swim in front of him but as it did, he also beheld the fletching and knew the arrow belonged to his brother. He turned slightly and beheld Prio with the great bow still in his hands and the slight smile on his face. One of the enemy saw a chance and burned a fatal gash across his stomach but the pain that was betrayal was worse and the last thing to leave his mind before the darkness. 

* * *

_The present –_

Fox looked down at his watch as a clock down the hall struck the hour. "I think we better get going. The sooner you and I part company, the less chance there will be of complications. Here, I can give you some clothes, we're about the same height." Methos looked at the holes in his pants and shirt still stained with last night's blood. Fox said, "Don't you hate when that happens?" 

Methos couldn't wait to get back to his flat in Paris. He thought he would relax and sleep and then he would feel better, feel safer. He sat on one of those airport chairs that looked comfortable but were really not, waiting for Fox to return with his ticket. He just couldn't do this for himself as a good deal of the pain returned and he found standing difficult. Checking out of the hotel and trying to act normal was a great feat in itself. Fox returned and sat down next to him, explaining that the best he could do was to get a flight that made a stopover in D.C. and another in Atlanta before taking off for Paris. 

Methos was none too happy. "So what's that, twleve hours before I get home?" 

"No, more like fourteen, maybe sixteen. Look at the bright side. You've only got to switch planes once in D.C." 

"Oh, Jesus," moaned Methos. 

When it was time to board, the two exchanged handshakes and a polite thank you. Methos settled in on an aisle seat near the rear of a creaking 737. He just reclined his seat the allotted 2 inches and waited for take off. The plane, however, sat for 30 minutes more. Methos knew why they called it a terminal. 

Just as the steward was closing the door, another passenger slipped in at the last moment. With a bit of commotion the passenger struggled back to the only empty seat and stood over Methos, immortal buzz and all. Methos opened his eyes and saw Fox standing over him. 

"Move over," demanded Fox. 

"Bloody hell," said Methos. "What's this?" 

"Move over." 

"I will not. I'm not sitting in the middle." 

"Ok then, have it your way." Fox crawled over Methos to get to his seat. "It's just as well," he said as an official from the airport came in to briefly scan the passengers. Fox buried his face in a magazine. The official wasn't very interested in finding anyone at that point. The plane was very late getting off the ground now. Everything looked fine. 

"Why am I not going to like this?" asked Methos. 

"It's a long story." 

Methos adjusted himself in the seat. "Well, does it look like I'm going anywhere, relatively speaking?" 

"Well, you know that warehouse you were at the other night where you, ah, you know?" 

"Yes, I know." 

"Well, I was there. Inside. You were supposed to have met me." 

"I was set up, wasn't I?" asked Methos. 

"Well, yes and no." They noticed that the other passengers might hear what they were saying. Although the teenager sitting in the window seat was totally oblivious playing a Gameboy, they switched on and off to Latin. 

Methos leaned over and whispered. "Am I in more danger than I was before?" 

Fox winced slightly. "I guess so." 

"Right, then. That's what I thought." The plane took off. 

Along the route, small bits of information came out. Fox had drawn up some papers for a business client, Ian Rowe, who had major interests in a big oil company, all legitimate. Rowe asked Fox to meet his client down at the warehouse as he expected to be out of town. Well, okay. A little unusual but Fox would get paid for his time. He arrived early and could overlook the street when Methos arrived. He strongly felt the presence of the immortal getting out of the cab but then the Rowe came out of nowhere. Fox was taken completely off guard. Then, after the short struggle, when Methos took the man's head, Fox became horrified. He had never known that Rowe had been an immortal. As lightening arched over the sky, Fox thought that discretion was the better part of valor and ran like a bat out of hell. 

Methos and Fox sat in a bar in the airport in D.C. waiting for the next leg of the flight. One faced one way, the other face the opposite direction. They looked like a pair of yin and yang book ends both with a beer in their hands. "I had met Rowe in Paris at a board of stockholders meeting for another company. I just came out here to see if the operation was for real," said Methos. "I've been burned before. I was going to invest a considerable sum in his operation and it all looked good. They were supposed to set up a trade co-op along with drilling operations to help the local people. The people who didn't work for the oil company directly would produce goods to sell. My end would have helped distribute goods to international markets. It was suppose to help pay for schools and medical facilities, things like that. I don't think they expected me to show up at their 'headquarters'." 

"You know," said Fox as he scarfed down a plate of nachos, "I think we both got there a little too early. I think Rowe wanted me out of the way, maybe because I knew too much. At least, maybe that's what he thought. If he had just left it alone, I would have been just as dumb about the whole thing but there was something else about the operation that made me start wondering because it all just seemed a little left of kosher. 

"I did a little digging and found the company is in real tight with the government of Myanmar, or Burma as it used to be called. I guess he found out I was asking too many questions, asking to see more documents. I think he felt that it would be better to be safe than sorry to get rid of me, thinking that he would have gotten a quickening in the bargain as well. He was going to whack me and then you. Did you know he was an immortal?" 

"No, never felt it coming. You?" 

Fox shook his head. "This is not a good thing," he said glumly. 

"So, who is it that chased you on to the plane?" Methos asked. 

"Rowe seemed to like to work alone as much as possible but I know he had a couple of partners. One of them was Jonathan Gannon. Now, he is an arrogant son of a bitch and a jerk. The couple of times I dealt with him, I felt as though I was wearing that damn collar again. Makes you feel like you don't count for anything." 

Methos asked, "Is he an immortal?" 

"Cripes, I don't know.... I think I feel a big anxiety attack coming on." Fox swallowed the rest of his beer. 

"No," said Methos, "now, we're going to keep our wits about us." 

"Listen, Methos," said Fox urgently, "I think we should switch planes. Let's go to, ah, um, Philadelphia and then go to Paris." 

Methos looked at him. "I'm not doing so well, Fox. I want to go home." 

"I can see that, but Methos, I got a bad feeling, here. Let's just check out changing the tickets and see what we can get." 

Methos agreed reluctantly. They did book a couple of seats to Newark and were able to get a flight right out to Paris. This actually shortened their time traveling. Luckily there was no one waiting for them in Paris because they came in at a different time. Fox thought it was time to part company but he could see that Methos was still having problems getting around. Once more Methos agreed to let Fox help and they picked up Methos' car from the airport lot and drove to his flat. 

Methos had found a small place hidden in a garden wall of what was once on the grounds of an old chateau. One had to know where to look in order to find it. Once inside and the door was closed, Methos could relax but now Fox was here and still did not absolutely trust him. What was Fox really after? He couldn't help being annoyed. He was used to doing things for himself. He was in control that way. 

"How's your French?" he asked Fox. 

"I guess I can get along. I'm a little rusty but I can do the basics." 

"So when was the last time you were in Paris?" Methos asked. 

"Oh, let's see. 1311 or 12." 

"Then that's not French. That's like me going to London and sounding like Chaucer. I think someone would notice." 

"Gee, ya think? No, I'm not that bad," he laughed. "I've kept up some. I spent a little time in Quebec with some clients of mine." 

"There's a little place up the street where you can pick up a few things to eat. Do you think you can go out for me?" 

"Sure, I'll give it a shot. Happy to do it." 

Once Fox was out, Methos phoned Joe to tell him that he was back and that he wanted to see him right away. Joe said he would be over as soon as he could but MacLeod was standing right there and he would be over now. Methos told Fox only about his good friend, Joe, in Paris who would help him out. By this time, Duncan's misgivings had more or less dissipated and he was anxious to hear about what happened to Methos. As Mac came up to Methos' door, he saw Fox trying to juggle two bags of groceries while attempting to turn the doorknob. He did not realize that Methos would have company and only had known that someone was after Methos' head. 

When Fox sensed MacLeod's presence, he dropped the packages and turned to face him with his heart in his throat. Duncan's sword was already drawn. 

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Where is Methos?" 

"I am Ellery Fox," he said drawing his sword. "You need to leave." 

"Not until I see Methos." 

Fox made the mistake of nervously advancing a step and was immediately drawn into battle. With a few short strokes, Duncan took him down. He left Fox bleeding in front of the door on the ground and raced inside. "Methos?! Where are you?" 

"Right here," he said as he stood in the kitchen. 

Duncan was taken aback when he saw his friend. There were wisps of gray in his hair. "I hope this is a disguise. You're scaring the hell out of me." 

"No unfortunately, it is not." 

What is happening? What is going on? Who is that watchdog you've got parked out front?" 

"That's Fox. You didn't...." Duncan nodded. "Oh, you did. Well, could you drag him in? Someone might see him." 

"Joe told me you were in very bad trouble," Duncan said as he put Fox in a living room chair. Methos filled Duncan in while waiting for Fox to revive and made lunch. He did not specifically tell Duncan of his former relationship with Fox. Within a short while, Fox took in a deep, lusty breath and opened his eyes. Duncan and Methos put down their sandwiches. 

Fox placed his hand over where the wound had been and grimaced as he coughed. "Lord, I'm still here," he said. "It never gets any easier." 

"I take it introductions are not necessary?" asked Methos. Duncan got up to shake Fox's hand. 

"Nice to meet you," Duncan said. "Sorry about the misunderstanding. Methos has been telling you've been giving him a hand. I'm very worried about him." 

"Without a doubt," replied Fox. 

* * *

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapters 7 & 8   
Author's Notes 

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

12/02/2000 

* * *


	3. The Price of the Heart: Chapter 3

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The Price of the Heart Chapter 3 by DeborahC

_The Price of the Heart_

By Deborah D. Charlow 

* * *

**_Chapter 3_**

Genocide, mass murder, holocaust. All these words played in the broadcast media and in print till they held little meaning. A flash of conscience and then back to business as usual. 

_"Give us this day our daily bread...."_

The sun was peeking between the clouds above France. The captain announced to the passengers to prepare for touchdown. Jonathan Gannon placed his seat in the upright position and looked at his watch. He would be on his way within twenty minutes and back in his office within two hours. He knew there might be objections to his new oil deal in Myanmar, should anyone come to understand the full implications, but was he not going to build a school and a medical facility? Were those workers not getting something? It did not matter to him how the government got those workers. That wasn't his responsibility. Maybe the conditions could be better, but then, those people were used to roughing it. No big deal. Well, on to other things. 

He had a dead partner and needed to resolve the connections between whoever did the old boy in and himself. It was unlikely that the killer could have been another who could hide their presence as Rowe and he could do. He needed to seek out the Ancient One, as he called her, to see if there had been others to whom she could have taught the secret. After she had given it to them, she swore no others would learn it because it created too much disharmony, a thing she could not abide. He had been so young when he received his immortality and in those rough times of war and plague, he sought only to survive in any way he could. Rowe had taught him what he needed to know as an immortal. Then they stumbled upon this old woman. 

* * *

_Flashback – Avignon, 1415 AD_

Rowe and Gannon had been wandering around the countryside outside Avignon, looking for a place of shelter before the winter set in. They were fresh from England and thought they would receive a fine welcome at Calais after selling battle plans to the French. Instead, they were poorly paid and received little else. The two decided to travel southward toward the warmer climes. They could hardly return to England, at least for a generation. So what, they said, they would be French for now, Swiss later or German. One country was just as corrupt and riddled with pestilence as the next. The important thing was the next meal. 

They had been limping along the old Roman road in the late afternoon. Rowe had been grumbling about his empty stomach when their attention was drawn to a commotion a short distance away. There was much noise when suddenly a middle-aged woman broke away from a small group of men and women. 

"Look, look," she yelled loudly, pointing to the two travelers. "My sons! My sons! _O Deo Gratias!_ There, I told you. Shame on all of you for harassing an old woman!" 

She ran toward them and embraced them both. The men looked at each other and immediately grasped the situation. They certainly knew a con when they saw one. 

"Oh, Maman!" they cried with equal enthusiasm. "What is happening here? Who are all these people?" 

"My good boys. I mix a few herbs and help a shepherd's dog, then a young boy from the village. They call me a witch, a woman alone. I told them you would be here. I was preparing our new home." 

Gannon raised himself up to his full height, which was impressive. He had a handsome and imperious face, and cut a noble figure despite the worn and traveled clothes. 

"Good people, we have been delayed on business with the Duke of Milan. Our dear mother was forced to carry on until we were able to catch up. Our mother is no witch," he said, both men crossing themselves, "but a good woman and a true daughter of Holy Mother Church." 

A young boy, who had stood in the center, stepped forward and pointed south along the road. "If you were coming from Milan, you should have been coming from over there. Not there." The boy pointed in the opposite direction. 

"Very good, young man, you are absolutely correct. We had gotten lost and passed by before we realized what had happened. A fine boy," laughed Rowe covering his anxiety. "Well, let us go Maman. We must be on our way." 

"Your names, Messieurs?" said the leader of the group. 

"Of course, Monsieur," Gannon said politely. "I am Jean and this, my brother, uh, Claude." Rowe inclined his head toward the group. He hated the name Claude. "We are the brothers..." Gannon looked down and moved the ring on a finger of his right hand. "Le Droit. Yes." 

"I am Louis Ferrier, constable appointed by his majesty, the king. We will keep in close contact so that your safety and comfort are assured. Good evening, Madame....Messieurs." 

The woman led them quickly to a humble but sturdy shelter. It was just big enough for the three of them. Gannon and Rowe felt encouraged as they stepped inside. Perhaps the winter would not be so bad after all. 

The woman invited them to sit near the fire, which they happily did. Once settled, she herself sat down and announced, "I know that you are both immortals." 

"What goes on here? How did you know?" Rowe nearly fell out of his chair. 

"Not to worry my fine lads. Just understand this: I know. I know all about immortals," she said. 

"But how can you tell?" asked Gannon. "What gave us away?" 

"I could feel you coming long before I saw you..." 

"No, but you? I had no sense of you," Gannon continued. "But you must be immortal, too." 

The woman smiled. "My name is Antonia, but I have been called by many names before. I've lived a very long time, but I have no game that I must play. I take no heads; a disgusting practice. I age but very slowly and I will one day die in the distant future but only if I take care and stay out of harm's way first." Rowe and Gannon looked astonished. Regarding their faces, Antonia continued. 

"Your arrogance leads you to believe that only you and mortals inhabit the world. My race was before time and there are many of us who still exist. In fact there are other races beyond mine and yours, other peoples beyond your feeble imaginations." 

"I'm having trouble believing this. Why are you telling us this?" asked Rowe. 

"You need a place and I need protection, at least until spring. These people are so ignorant and can't abide an independent woman. Try to be of service and they fall into a hole of their own superstition." 

"This sounds like the start of an interesting arrangement, 'Maman'," said Gannon. 

"I think she's crazy," said Rowe. 

"I don't do this very often, but to help you understand, I will make an exception," she explained. 

Antonia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. At the same time, Rowe's chair began to rise off the floor, two inches, three, then four. Rowe held on with eyes wide and his mouth wide open. The chair suddenly tilted and Rowe found himself prone on the floor. 

"Do you need further demonstrations?" Antonia wanted to know. Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "I can teach you both many things but only if you become worthy." Rowe picked himself up and tried to recover his dignity. 

"Worthy. Hmmm," remarked Gannon. "Is that not a strange idea coming from a trickster, such as yourself, Madame?" 

"I sometimes must rely upon my wits as the occasion warrants but I hurt no one beyond the pride of some and usually they deserve it," she said with a little laugh. 

"Very well," said Gannon. "Maman, I shall take you up on your generous offer. What do you say, Claude?" 

"By God's wounds, what made you name me Claude?" grumbled Rowe. 

"Don't know," said Gannon as he turned to Antonia. "What's for dinner?" 

The winter passed slowly. Gannon and Rowe made themselves busy by mending harnesses and cutting wood. Antonia found herself always trying to control the two men as if they were rough schoolboys who constantly required scolding. She could have taught them many ancient secrets and wisdom but they did not deserve her attention in this regard. However, in order to live up to her end of their arrangement, she taught them how to hide their presence from other immortals, the easiest thing to learn. Still, it took them a long time to get the hang of it as neither one of them would concentrate for very long. She often wondered how the both of them managed to survive as long as they did. 

Finally, the warm weather came and Antonia packed up her few belongings and bid her quick good byes to the pair. She swore she would never again get so involved with immortals. The aggravation was simply not worth the trouble. With a snap at her horse's rump, she was off and out of Gannon and Rowe's lives at least for a while. Much to her annoyance, she would run into them more often than she ever thought possible or desired. 

* * *

_The Present – Paris_

Precious little time was wasted in finding out where Fox and Methos had gone. Now all Gannon had to do was find them in Paris. If he didn't, he could bide his time and thought that he could eventually catch up to Fox, at least back in the States. 

Pulling a few strings was easy for Gannon. He also possessed a certain amount of power and a large staff. With a few phone calls, he would have Fox and Adam Pierson within his sights and then their heads. He smiled to himself. The thought gave him a feeling of self satisfaction that he had grown used to in the past fifty or so years. By the end of the Second World War, he had learned to take the misfortunes of others and turn it into cash. His charming exterior masked a naked opportunist. A couple of nobodies, a low life lawyer and a smart-ass investor would not jeopardize his latest business venture. It's good they came to Paris, less association to the home office in Cleveland. Gannon positively grinned ear to ear. 

  
Later that day, back at Methos' flat, Joe walked up to the door, knocked and let himself in. Methos had warned Joe about his appearance but Joe was surprised nevertheless. It wasn't that Methos looked terribly aged, but the sight of this was just so unexpected. Methos was actually worse off on the inside than the out. Both Joe and Duncan were distraught that Methos was so complacent with what was happening to him. 

Then Joe met Fox. Joe reached out to shake hands and Fox caught sight of the Watcher tattoo. The image threw Fox into a state of agitation that he tried very hard to conceal. Did or did not Methos know who this so-called friend was or what he was? Fox remained aloof while Joe and Duncan decided what they could do for Methos. 

"Methos," said Joe, "I would think that if anyone would have a clue as to what is happening to you, you would. You have been around. Think, maybe something will come to you. Someone you knew had this happen before." 

Methos looked at Joe. "That's all I have been doing. The only person I know who is anywhere even near my age is Fox and he doesn't know anymore than I." Fox just shrugged his shoulders. 

Joe went on. "And this Jonathan Gannon, I found nothing on him. Rowe had a Watcher because he took the head of another immortal who had a Watcher on him. That's quite a stunt, this no warning business. Oh, and John Dorsett. I knew he was a mistake waiting to happen. I heard bad things about him." 

Fox remained silent. Protesting about Dorsett might not be healthy at this point in time. Joe turned his attention toward Fox further increasing his guarded attitude. "So, Methos tells me you and he go back a long time. 

"Yes." 

"So how long is that?" 

Fox didn't know what to answer. What would happen if he appeared hostile? Yet he did not see the reason to be cooperative. It was none of his damn business. Fox looked into Joe's eyes and could tell he was dealing with no dummy. Sooner or later, he might find out anyway so rather than make things more complicated, Fox told him the truth, some of it. 

"About twenty-one hundred years ago, give or take a decade. I knew Methos way back when-." 

"How about something to eat or drink, Joe?" asked Methos quickly, cutting Fox off. Methos had no desire either to reveal that he had once been Fox's slave or anyone else's. Duncan had once found out that Methos had been a slave again briefly during the reign of Augustus and it didn't please him let Duncan know anymore than he needed to know about this part of his past. He would be embarrassed about it and just didn't think Duncan would understand. Accept it, maybe, but not understand the fact that being someone's property had made him rich and content, how he didn't want to leave his position, and how he had allowed himself to wear that collar for 27 years, and left only because he had been forced to leave. He had to justify himself once before to Duncan and he didn't want to go there again. It was rather like having to explain yourself to your big brother and like Richie had once said, it grew tiresome to have Duncan always be older and wiser, at least that's the way Methos sometimes felt about MacLeod. This was his business only. 

Joe and Duncan knew that Methos had just thrown up a wall. "No thanks," said Joe as he inched forward in his chair. 

Duncan said, "The only idea I have at the moment is to look into Darius' books over at the church. What do you say we take a trip over?" 

"Fine," said Methos. "I need to talk to Fox first." Joe and Duncan left the flat and waited outside in the car. 

"What was that about?" asked Fox. "Why did you change the subject?" 

"They don't need to know everything. Some things need to stay private." 

"Ah, hah," said Fox. 

"What do mean, 'Ah, hah'?" 

"Look, I think I should to be going now. You don't need me now that your _friends_ are here," he said harshly. 

"What's that suppose to mean?" 

"Your Watcher friends. I remember you said you didn't even think they were around anymore and now I see you have one for a best friend. Another just tried to take your head. I don't get it." 

"Listen, Fox, at the time I didn't see any need to go into my dealings with Watchers. I didn't think I would see you again. Besides, Joe is a good guy. I'd defend him with my life but don't ever tell him that. And furthermore, Joe is Duncan's Watcher, not mine. The Watchers don't even know I exist for real and Joe is keeping it that way for me." 

"And," Fox said, "MacLeod is okay with this? Isn't this kind of bending the rules into a pretzel? Watchers never interfere, except for the crazy ones like Dorsett." 

Methos responded, "Yes, the rules have been bent. So what? Sometimes you just have to be practical." 

"Well, I think I'm going to be practical and leave. I'm not comfortable around Watchers and now that Dawson knows about me, I'll have a Watcher on me before I leave Paris." 

Methos stood in his way. "I'll talk to Joe about this. He'll make an exception." 

"You can guarantee this, right?" asked Fox. 

Methos could only give Fox a maybe with the shrug of his shoulder. Methos pointed to Fox's shirt, ripped and bloodied. "It seems to me you're way out of practice." 

"Yeah, I'm a little rusty. I've been out of it but I can take care of myself." 

"Where have I heard that before?" asked Methos. Standing in the narrow hall face to face, they paused for a moment. They were aware of a connection between them that spanned the millennia whether they liked it or not. They knew the joy and pain of living so long a life, of making uncomfortable compromises, of having to recreate themselves over and over yet remain one person. 

"Methos, I just want you to know that I am extremely sorry for the way I treated you and I wish I could change history." 

"Yes, well, I've had plenty of opportunities to wish the same thing. Thank you for all your help." 

"Live long and prosper," Fox said with a smile. They grasped each other by the forearm as they would have as equals in days long ago. 

Fox buttoned his coat over his shirt and went out the door. "I'll send your clothes back and a new shirt," Methos called after him. Outside Fox bid Joe and Duncan a quick good-bye and walked up the street. 

At the church, Methos drifted over many old volumes. He was the only one who could read much of it. He tired soon and went to a more comfortable chair and drifted off to sleep. Joe and Duncan continued to search but didn't come up with anything specific to Methos' problem. They sat back and watched him rest. 

"This has done nothing," said Joe. "Just look at him. This is not supposed to be happening. It goes against everything I know about immortals. I wonder where it's going to end. It looks like he's just going to pass away. This is not suppose to be happening." 

"Look, Joe. That son of a bitch is not going to do this. There is going to be an answer someplace. I know it. Being an immortal is not a simple thing. There is always some kind of string attached and all we have to do is find it." 

Methos had overheard some of their conversation. "Well, what if this son of a bitch thinks there is no string this time. What if it _is_ time?" Joe and Duncan were caught a little off guard. 

Duncan asked, " Time for what?" 

"Maybe, said Methos, "you only get five thousand years and that's it. Nobody else is around to tell us any different." 

"We are immortal. We don't die." 

Methos countered, "But we do, MacLeod, when somebody takes our head, we do. And maybe we can if we live long enough." 

"Why are you giving up like this? I don't understand," pleaded Duncan. 

"It has something to do with dignity, right Joe?" 

"I think I know what you mean. Mortals like me have a different perspective." 

"This is something I'm very aware of, deep inside. It's something I _know._ " 

"This, coming from the guy who'd do anything to survive. So, what exactly do you know? You're holding out." 

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Duncan, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." 

"No more games for me, Methos. I can't do it anymore. Be honest with me." 

"When I can tell you something definite, I will." 

After a few moments of silence, they decided to leave. Passing through the sacristy and turning next by the main altar, Methos stopped and turned to Duncan. 

"Come here," he said to Duncan as he stepped toward the tabernacle. Duncan followed. 

"Give me your sword," said Methos. 

"What?" 

"Just give it to me, please." 

Duncan removed his sword and Methos placed it on the altar. He grabbed Duncan's right hand and placed it on the sword and held it there. 

"Now, I want you to swear to me, for me, that if when the time draws near, you will take my head." 

Duncan recoiled as if he had been hit. "How can you ask me such a thing? God Almighty, I can't do that and so soon after....after." It had been more than two years since Richie's passing but it didn't take much to sharpen the memory for Duncan. 

"I know, Richie. But this is not an accident." 

"Exactly!" said Duncan, hoarse with emotion. 

"What," asked Methos, "would become of my quickening? Five thousand long years all for nothing, gone. I have no children and very few friends. What do I have to give is but little." Methos fought back tears. 

"I am desperate, otherwise I would not ask. You would honor me by taking my quickening. Nowhere is there a better man." 

"But," said Duncan struggling, "taking your head." 

"When I was a child, infants were given their first solid food by their mothers on the tip of a blade. I was born and raised a warrior and I always thought I would die with a sword in my hand. I will not go gentle into that good night. Help me please, Duncan." 

"Then where is your rage?" 

Methos just smiled slightly. "Duncan, I don't know if I can get out of this one. I need a sense of peace and you can give it to me. Help me." 

"Ok, I will," said Duncan with tears rolling down his face, "but I'm not giving up yet and you are not either as long as I'm breathing." 

"Good enough," said Methos. 

  
In the following days, Joe was on the computer. He decided to go and see Cassandra since she was an exceedingly old immortal also. He had to fly all the way to Sydney but he didn't have any luck. Cassandra was cordial enough but she said she had neither heard of this happening, nor of any immortal being able to hide their presence. Joe, however, suspected differently but she would not give up any secrets, even though Joe had never said who the information was for. She rightly guessed it was for Methos and would not help him in any case. 

Meanwhile, Methos spent a few quiet days thinking about Julia until he heard from her. She was in town and he wanted desperately to see her. In his imaginings, he thought that he could alter the relationship of the past. He wanted to possess some power over her this time. Although it was barely a conscious thought on his part, he wanted her to be dependent on him, even if it was only for a short while, the same way she had made him dependent on her. He wanted her to see him as a free man in charge of his own destiny. He no longer enjoyed the image he had of himself when she owned him. He thought to himself that he really hadn't come far enough or did enough or had enough to rival what she and Publius once possessed. Yet he had been responsible for their wealth and position. Nevertheless, he had received no credit for it all and always felt his efforts were taken for granted. Now he had this insidious illness and felt himself dying. Maybe he could fool her a short while, long enough to walk away with dignity. Dignity had suddenly become all too important to him. 

She soon rung him up and they met at a little restaurant. She noticed a difference in him; something about his appearance was not as it was in Cleveland but thought she had been mistaken. He put up a good front pretending to be full of energy, suggesting that they do a little sight seeing for the afternoon. They had a good time and laughed a lot. Methos was feeling better about himself when they returned to his flat, if only tenuously. His emotions were kept under wraps but they were churning inside. 

They were sitting on his couch in the early evening when he decided to get a little closer. Once more, the thought about possessing this woman crossed his mind. After all this time, an ancient flickering pain reared up again, loss overcome by anger. He actually thought, if only half seriously for a second, about just taking her, forcing himself on her. He put his arm around her and laid her back on the couch and was about to kiss her when a small crucifix fell out from under her clothing. It stopped him cold. 

He sat up, looking a little pale. He wanted to yell at her. How could she wear that in his presence? He, however, said nothing. He didn't have to; she knew. I'm sorry, Methos," she said, "but surely you have seen these before. Does it always bother you?" 

"Bother me?" He controlled his answer. "Is that what you think it is? A bother? No, it doesn't bother me to see one but it does make me uncomfortable to see you and it so close to together." 

"I did not wear this to annoy you, Methos. I was a nun. I wear it for a special memory. I didn't think you would have got to it." 

_That's just it; I didn't get to it. I got nothing then, also._

"Look, I'm sorry. Things were not suppose to turn out they way they did but if you hadn't just taken off without a word and then just to kill Gracillus like that." 

"Kill Gracillus? Where was Gracillus? I never saw him" 

_Flashback – Rome, 176 BC_

In those days, Methos the slave had become very wealthy, though officially his wealth belonged to Julia. Still, his life was lived in relative luxury, luxurious by Republican standards. He and a small handful of slaves could wield much power in the affairs of state unlike most of the population, let alone ordinary slaves. The world power that would congeal into the Empire would have yet to take shape but the beginnings of it were evident from the rise of certain dictators in times of crisis. It would eventually become harder and harder to dislodge them when their term was up. The army would follow the generals who would give them citizenship and land for their hard work. The Senate would cling to preserving their privileges and would sell their souls and the Republic out. 

Still, Methos was certain he could maintain the political balance between the public life of Publius and their real identities. Many people owed Publius and Julia favors, an endless Roman game. However, Publius owed many favors to others in return and that's where he needed to watch himself. 

On certain days, Methos could busy himself with other pursuits, one of which was his interest in healing. He followed an old Greek slave around town to watch him as he took care of patients. Methos had found the old man's generous spirit refreshing and inspired much respect. Soon Methos found himself giving the old man a hand, learning a new craft, and enjoying the simple thanks of the humble people he was helping. He could lose himself in doing this work and over time became quite good which pleased the old man no end. Somebody would be there to take his burden once he had passed. He told Methos never to do harm first and foremost, and this Methos took to heart. 

One night as Methos was about to retire, another slave came to him and asked him to give assistance to his friend who had just fallen from a great height and quickly needed attention. Methos was happy to oblige though a little reluctant to leave the company of his concubine. _Well, this shouldn't take too long,_ he thought. The man had sustained a simple fracture in his right arm and Methos had become skilled enough that he could set it. When he returned, the concubine was not there but he had been too tired to look for her. 

Just before dawn, he became aware of a commotion that grew closer and closer. Within seconds, armed guards broke into his room and dragged him out. Roughly, they moved him over to a guardhouse on the outskirts of the city. A dank and airless place, the walls closed in while voices all around him added to the confusion. All the while he kept pleading with them to tell him what was happening but he received no explanation. They chained him and then stripped his back. Searing lash strokes left him breathless until he could no longer support himself. They stood him up and repeated the process until he lay motionless. _This is the end,_ he thought, though it was more of a prayer of hope. 

An hour later, the guard came back. Methos tried to lay very still as though dead but the guard kicked him hard to make sure. Methos had no choice but to react to the new pain. The guard dragged him to another part of the building where he would endure further tortured for another hour. 

When at last the beating stopped, Methos was covered in his own blood, which in a strangely fortunate way hid the fact that his wounds were healing rapidly. After a while, they pulled him through the streets in chains back to his house and led to a chamber where Julia stood. She was not prepared for what she saw and it made her sick. Nevertheless, she had to keep aloof and remain composed. The guard pushed Methos down to his knees in front of Julia and then was dismissed. Through the corner of her eye, she caught the glimpse of a shadow against an opposite wall that played upon the colorful frescos. Spies hung in the shadows. Methos was in a daze and could barely see or hear her. Julia didn't know what to say or do, yet she needed to give him some sort of sign that she would help. She knew she had to play this terrible part as everything she said would be reported to her husband's enemies. 

Methos hung on to consciousness and waited for permission to speak, as was the custom. He felt some relief in seeing her. Everything would be straightened out and his ordeal would soon be over. 

"I see it has come to this," said Julia coldly for lack of anything better. 

"Lady, what have I done?" asked Methos quietly. 

Julia was surprised. "You mean they have not told you?" she asked incredulously. 

"If I have offended you in anyway, I did not intend to do so," he pleaded. 

"Methos, did you not minister aid to another slave last night?" 

"Yes." 

"Did you know that the slave attempted to lead a rebellion?" 

"No. I had only tried to help someone in need." 

"Methos, I will take care of everything once it is all over and see to it your wishes are carried out." 

Methos looked at her gathering his wits. "What do you mean once it is all over?" 

"You are to be executed for aiding in a slave rebellion," she said holding back, trying to keep her voice from cracking. 

He went wild. "I didn't do anything! You can't do this to me!" he yelled. "Do you know what a public execution means? I'll have to leave, leave everything. All that I worked for." 

"Methos, please. It will be all right. Please. Look, you'll finally be free." She was afraid his raving might reveal too much. 

"Free? What good is an ex-slave?" he shouted. "Where is Publius? I want to see Publius." 

"You can not see him now." Publius' life hung in the balance. Several members of the Senate only needed an excuse to accuse Publius of treason and they also wanted Methos' life as he had grown so powerful. 

"Julia, I could have made Publius dictator for life!" 

That was the last thing she wanted him to say. This would get back to the Senate. "Methos, hold you tongue! You are insane," she cried. 

By now the guard had returned and held Methos down by the collar around his neck. "My Lady, " the guard said, "I think this has been enough." Julia nodded reluctantly. She didn't know what he would say next. She thought she would panic from fear. 

"Julia, please," begged Methos. "You are powerful; you can help me. Don't take everything away from me. I am your obedient slave. No freedom. Please!" 

The guard struggled to get him out the door and called for assistance. Julia hung on to a wall. The last thing she saw was the look in Methos' eyes of sad betrayal. She couldn't have felt more pain than if a knife had entered her heart. The look would haunt her for centuries. 

They led Methos to the road leading south out of Rome. Upright beams had already been placed there from previous executions. They served as a reminder to slaves and other criminals that this would be their fate if they failed to behave. Methos had always thought he could endure this type of execution as well as any other but now he was not so sure. Pure fear began to take hold of him and he twisted and tried to wrench his way free but it was to no avail. The bodies would be left there to hang and rot. How many times would he die? The world collapsed in on him when he saw the crossbeam. 

* * *

_The present – Paris_

Fox sat at table in front of a small café near the Champs Elysee. He hadn't been in Europe since 1702 when his best option at the time was to go to Virginia as an indentured servant. It was either that or a long time in a London prison and he knew only too well what the inside of that was like. Being a servant was not much better than being a slave. The only good thing about it was that it only lasted for seven years and then he could possibly make something of his life. The downside was that servants such as himself could be treated worse than the slaves. Slaves represented a considerable investment but an indentured servant was nothing. More could easily be had if one died – and they often did. 

Fox endured his time and eventually held some land and a new life of which he was proud. He remained in the United States the rest of the time except for a few stints in the army and navy and a tour of duty with Office of Strategic Services, which he did not officially survive. All in all, he had a good life since leaving Europe but lately he had a nagging feeling of guilt. He thought he had been getting very old despite the fact that he looked as if he might be in his early thirties. He wanted to make up for some of his past mistakes, some of the suffering he had inflicted on others, which in the distant past had been considerable. 

At first, it was just a fleeting thought, but lately it had consumed a measurable part of his waking. He jumped at the chance to help Methos and he thought that perhaps he had been a little too hasty in departing. He also had second thoughts as to what he should do next. He didn't think that going home would be safe and now he was here in this grand city feeling very small and alone. Maybe he could lose himself in another country for a time, maybe Canada or Australia, someplace where he wouldn't have to speak a different language. He didn't want to pull up stakes again, damn it. He had a good life in Cleveland and could continue to do so for a long time. He had been happy. 

Now he listened to the strange rhythms that enveloped him, new smells, new sights. Perhaps a good night's rest at a hotel with a familiar name, like some chain from the States. Yes, that would do it and things would be clearer the next day. 

Fox bought a guidebook and found his hotel. He checked in and entered the elevator. Another man quickly pried apart the closing doors and Fox found himself standing face to face with Jonathan Gannon. "Jesus Christ," Fox heard himself say under his breath. He reached inside his coat. 

Gannon smiled and said, "Mr. Fox, I don't believe you will need that." Fox stood his ground. "Mr. Fox," continued Gannon, "I have been looking for you. Funny it should have been so easy. A good choice, this hotel. I stay here often. I own it." 

_What a snake,_ thought Fox. _This guy's tone could not have been oilier._

"We have a few problems to clear up," said Gannon. 

"You're an immortal, aren't you?" Fox asked. 

"You have guessed my little secret. Darn." The doors opened on to Gannon's private floor and there waiting were two large and armed suits. Fox drew his sword knowing his bravado would be futile. He was quickly and quietly shot twice. The men dragged him in the foyer and as life dripped on to the floor Fox remembered a prayer, something that he repeated over and over, like a mantra, when he found himself in tough situations. He caught the eye of one of them. _"Dominus, non sum dignus, sed tantum dic verbum."_ Lord, I am not worthy, but only say the word. The men couldn't understand the Latin and were puzzled. Fox longed for forgiveness so badly and expected he would not have his chance now. 

* * *

Methos and Julia stood and prepared for a face-off. "Methos, we need to talk about this." 

"No, I don't need to. It's finished business." 

"But obviously this really bothers....upsets you still." 

"Can't you understand? Just leave it alone. I don't want to relive it again, Julia. Jung, Rogers, talk therapy, it's a lot of crap." 

"But I need to, Methos. I couldn't bear the look of your face, your cry for help. It has followed me around all these years. If I could have thought of something that I could have done differently, but there was no time. They would have killed Publius, taken everything, and then sold the children, their families, and me into slavery. I tried to tell you that everything would have been alright but you didn't hear." He didn't want to hear about this now. "Methos, I would ask you to let me do something to make this up to you in some small way." 

Methos was perplexed by the attention he had received from Fox and now from Julia wanting absolution. Usually, it was the other way around and it was he who longed for attention, the kind of attention that his furtive lifestyle wouldn't allow. He didn't understand the coincidence that both Athos and Julia should show up in his life at this particular time, a time that he should be dying like this and they needing his grace upon them. How strange that he should be in this position. 

Methos needed to find a chair again and sat down with great difficulty. The wound that had been in his chest and knee pained him and he had trouble breathing. Julia became alarmed. 

"What's happened to you? What's wrong?" 

"I don't know. I'd been shot and it's not healing. Julia, I quite believe myself to be dying." 

"Oh my God, Methos. I thought there was something wrong. What are you doing about this?" 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing! Why, for God's sake?" 

"What am I going to do? Check myself in at a hospital. Give them my medical history? If I had any ideas, I would have done something by now. I was thinking that perhaps I have been long enough on the planet. It's been a quite a long run." 

"Look, you now. I don't know if I have an answer but I know someone who might. Tomorrow, we'll work on this." 

For a while Methos laid back and Julia brought him something to drink and rubbed his shoulders. _Finally,_ he thought, _maybe I'm more to her than just a household pet._ She, however, still had her soft spot and wanted to rescue him as she did so long ago. She could easily see the tension loosen from his body as he once again drifted away. 

"You need to rest, Methos. That much is obvious." Methos could do nothing but agree. In the morning she would find Antonia. She could fix anything. 

With the new day came a new sense of urgency. Julia woke early and made a few phone calls. After breakfast she announced that Methos and she would be taking a trip to Brittany. "Brittany!" said Methos, "that's a bit of a drive." 

"Methos, don't whine at me. I thought we might have to get on a plane and go to Punjab but we were lucky." 

"Who is in Brittany?" 

"An old friend, a very old friend. It was she who taught me how to hide my presence. I had been a camp follower in Alexander's army and...." 

"You....you a camp follower? Laundry and...." 

"Just shut up! All I can say was that it was a living. I went all the way to India and back to Greece following that army. I met her in the Hindu Kush near the Kyber Pass. People worshiped at her feet. She could work miracles," said Julia almost in a whisper. Her voice revealed a slight accent that he had not noticed before. "And, Methos, she is old, older than us but she is not one of us." 

Methos searched his memory for the people to whom Julia referred. In the distant past he could recollect stories that people used to tell around the campfires, of the great warriors and their deeds. Methos believed these stories to be true but after a while he let them go as the myths that mortals had made up to explain the world and the things that were beyond their comprehension. He remembered how it was taboo to say the name of a god or an enemy and so using the other name would deflect the power of that being. Individuals had two names, also. If someone knew your real name, it was the same as owning your soul. He knew and understood that power. Most of the world had lost its appetite for magic, though not superstition still rampant in various disguises. Methos considered the possibility that this old friend of Julia's might know how to help him. His outlook began to improve a tiny bit. 

Julia drove as Methos looked at a map. "I haven't been up this way in a long time," said Julia. 

"Yes," Methos said, "everything looks different from the back of a donkey." 

"Ha, you should talk!" Julia laughed. 

Methos watched the landscape turn from the urban into to a dense rolling forest and brambles, just beginning to green. They left behind the present and followed narrow roads into the Val Sans Retour, ancient and familiar feeling. 

Methos cleared his throat. He was ready to talk. "You know, Julia, I didn't kill Gracilus. I hope you believe me." Julia just looked at him and waited for him to continue. "I never saw him." 

* * *

_Flashback – South of Rome on the Via Appia_

Gracilus was becoming old and tired. He found a shady place between two buildings a short distance away where he could see the execution place. "Poor bastards," he said to himself. He knew they didn't deserve what was happening to them. The one slave, who tried to escape, the so-called rebel maybe, but not the whole household. They were all innocent including the young woman, only a girl really. The authorities could do this to her, too. And then there was Methos who hung there with them. His only crime was to help another out. "Well, it doesn't pay to be nice to people, does it?" he said to his donkey. Actually, had the tribunal wanted, they could have sentenced Methos' co-workers also, and that would have meant that Gracilus would have been on a cross too. He thanked the gods that he had been lucky this time. 

Earlier, he had bribed the guards royally, so that he could take Methos' body down when the time came and take him away to a country villa in north of Rome. Julia had told him that Methos would revive and that he should stay put until she could travel there. She also gave Gracilus a heavy box which he would give to Methos. Gracilus didn't question his mistress but he was used to being obedient and took it with a grain of salt. Stranger things have happened. He would wait and see. If nothing else, Gracilus was loyal. 

Methos' lungs screamed for air. His muscles quickly grew fatigued trying to brace the weight of his own body against the beams. The ropes cut into his flesh. He wondered how long it would be until death came but he knew well that it could be a long time. He was exposed to the world, literally and psychologically. Those who he had come to trust and rely on, the system itself, now tore away his pride and dignity. They were ripping away his humanity with every labored breath and not a single thought could he find to comfort himself. After several hours, the others along side of him, sixteen altogether, began to cry out for someone to cut their throats but no one paid attention. Passersby on the road turned their eyes and went away as quickly as they could. Methos kept silent. 

He was starting to drift in and out of consciousness, being aware and then being lost. At some point, his mind went beyond the present and into the past. It seemed so real, not like a dream at all. He was standing at the bottom of a gentle slope all covered in blue and white flowers and a gentle breeze surrounded the hill. The sun was shining bright and hot on the first real day of summer. When he walked to the top, he could see a group of people standing next to a waterfall in a deep ravine, some playing and splashing in the water on the other side. 

Laughter echoed up the hill to Methos and he recognized them as his brothers and sisters calling to him. In the center of all of this activity was a woman that Methos knew as his mother. She was standing in the stream with a bowl and called to him to come drink the water. She was a tall and sturdy woman and Methos thought her entirely beautiful. Her long brown hair that was usually plaited hung loose to her waist and her skirts were hiked up to avoid the water. "It is good for you. It will make you strong, my little fawn," she cried, holding up a bowl of water. Methos took a step toward them but then stopped. Reality smashed its way back into his consciousness as one of the executioners splashed cold water on Methos' naked body and brought him back from the brink of death. Muscles tightened up into new agonies and once again Methos renewed the long spiral downward until he could be released. This time he cried out. 

Gracilus spent his time waiting patiently, chatting of mundane everyday things to anyone who would listen. He took a nap at one point but woke up only to find Methos still writhing in the ropes. Finally toward evening, just as the sun began to go down, Methos died. Ten hours had passed and one or two of the others were still alive. Gracilus moved quickly and with the help of one of the guards, placed Methos into a cart and took him away. 

Gracilus did what he was told and once at the villa, he placed Methos on a cot and again waited patiently. Methos had not yet come around and Gracilus had begun to think that nothing was going to happen. He pried open the box that Julia had given him for safe keeping. Within was the fortune that Methos had accumulated over the years. The shining gold had been a little too much for the old man and he looked at the broken body. "Thank you, boy," Gracilus laughed. _What is a corpse going to do with all this wealth?_ he thought. He waited into the night just to be sure and yet Methos did not stir. Under the cover of a cloudy night, Gracilus quietly put Methos back into the cart and made his way toward the city refuse pile on the outskirts of Narnia. 

Gracilus took the body and without any ceremony, tossed it onto one of the piles of rubbish as had been the custom, sometimes, with dead slaves. He bid Methos farewell and he and his donkey went back to the villa. Methos lay across a heap for a long time yet. The clouds cleared and at the thirteenth hour Methos came back from the dead. The great white eye of the moon shone so brightly in his face that it was almost painful. Every part of his body ached as he tried to gather strength to raise himself. He coughed and then shivered, trying to stand. He was only aware of the stinging light in his face and now the coldness. He stood unsteadily and slipped and fell into the uneven filth. 

By now he had become aware that he was totally naked and he crawled about trying to find a piece of cloth to cover himself. He found a bit of rag to wrap around his waist and a bit more to throw over his shoulders. Standing next to the edge of the heap, he looked up into the face of the moon and never thought himself more abandoned or more alone. A broad and empty plain stretched out before him and a few lights of the city beyond still shone at the edge of the horizon. Methos stood without moving for some time; he just didn't know what to do. It was so cold and still that not even the rats stirred. Finally, Methos took an unsteady step toward the road and moved north by the light of the moon. 

Several miles up the road, Methos spied a small village consisting of but six or seven huts and a few out buildings. He took a chance and moved in hoping that there might be another piece of cloth or clothing left on a clothesline. Dogs barked and snarled and he gave up the idea that he might scavenge something wearable. He continued down the road but within a quarter of a mile, he saw a small building that glowed. Apparently, a blacksmith had been up late working. Methos hid in the shadows at a distance. He could just make out the outline of a huge man who threw some water across himself and walked over to his house, finished with the night's labor. Methos could at least find a warm place to stay until morning. He was still wearing his collar and it would be assumed that he had run away. 

Methos entered the hut. A smokey metallic odor hung in the air but it was warm inside. A small cot sat in a corner, dirty with soot but certainly a welcome sight. Methos stood next to the embers that still glowed brightly and warmed his hands. He dared not think of what he would do next, only to get warm. A few minutes passed when suddenly, the smith popped back into the hut, taking Methos by surprise. The smith's presence barely preceded his entrance and Methos' heart fell as he knew the man was an immortal. Within a split second, a sword was at his throat. 

"What have we got here?" asked the smith. "A thief, an immortal thief? No, a runaway slave." he said derisively. 

Methos pushed the sword aside defiantly. "No, Master, a dead slave." His state of mind made him bold as he felt he had nothing else to lose. Methos looked the man straight in the eye waiting for the next move. 

"What shall we do?" the smith wondered. 

"Whatever you will," replied Methos angrily. 

"Then I will you to sit," said the man in a jovial manner. Methos was stunned. "Here, my boy, sit down. Hungry, are you not?" 

"Yes, Master." 

"Now then, wait but a moment and I will fetch you something. You can relax, my boy." Methos sat staring into the fire only a bit when the man returned with his wife and a bowl of porridge and a cup of wine. 

"Oh, by all the gods, look at the poor man," said the woman. She took a wet cloth and washed his face and hands, removing the dried blood and dirt of the previous day. She fed him and thought he had never tasted anything so good as that simple food. 

"What is your name, my dear?" asked the woman. She rinsed the cloth in a bowl of warm water and continued to wash him. 

"Uh, Methos." 

"How very nice to meet you. My name is Aveta and my husband-" 

"I am Lepidus, son of Marax of Aquitainia." 

Methos protested as the washcloth got lower on his body. "Upon my life, Methos, I am old enough to be your grandmother, but then maybe not," she laughed. "I have borne many fine boys. There is nothing of which I am unaware. Besides, you need to be clean to sleep in my house." As she cleaned him, she noticed marks on his arms that had not gone away as yet and never did. 

"You were executed, weren't you." Methos nodded. "I thought as much," she sighed. For slaves, torture always accompanied interrogation and crucifixion was the usual form of death. That was the way of it. 

Methos could tolerate this attention because he was still in a state of shock. Soon, they led him toward their house and a cot next to the brassier. He slept well into the next morning and when he woke more food was waiting for him. He was alone with the woman. 

"I have....nothing." The import of what he was saying was becoming real to him. "I cannot repay you." 

He waited to see what the response would be. Maybe they would expect him to work it off or be taken as their slave. 

"I don't need or want anything from you," Aveta said thoughtfully, "except your good graces and pleasant countenance." 

"But, my Lady-." 

"My boy," she said softly. "Boy" sounded altogether different than when Publius used it. "I know that you have had a hard time of it. I know what the execution of a slave is. I have seen it too many times. Enough is enough and I can't think of a way to change things except by small acts of kindness that I might render. Hasn't anyone ever been kind to you?" 

"Everyone expects something in return." 

"Yes," said Aveta. "I expect your good will and a smile. Look, here is our Lepidus." 

Lepidus walked in with a pair of iron metal cutters in his hand. "I found them, Aveta. I knew they had to be around someplace, unless Marius, that's my brother in law, Methos, borrowed them." 

"Well, good," said Aveta. "You can take care of that problem now." 

"And so I shall, _cara._ " Lepidus approached Methos with the cutters and Methos tried to back away but Lepidus caught him by the collar. Before he knew it, Methos was free of the metal band and held it in his hands. He had worn it for such a long time that he did not know what to feel. He had been a slave too long. After all, he did not seek his freedom and now even felt more lost than he did before. At least he had some identity as a slave. Now he was nothing. 

"You don't look pleased, Methos," said Lepidus. 

"I am at a loss to express myself, Master. I don't know what to think. I owe you both much thanks but what do I do now?" 

"By the gods, man, where you born into slavery? You do know what you are an immortal, don't you? 

"Yes, Master." 

"Now you must call me Ledipus. Methos, you could not go back to your former life in any case. Now you are your own man. What do you think you want to do? Do you have any ideas?" 

"I think I would like to return and kill the woman who took away my life." Lepidus and Aveta exchanged unhappy glances. 

Lepidus sighed. "Yes, that is something you could do, but what is it going to get you except more trouble? Think, man. You must let it go this time. Fate will catch up with her." 

"But," said Methos angrily, "I had wealth. I had power and influence." 

"All as before the wind. Here and then gone." 

Aveta spoke. "Stay awhile until you know what you should do. You need time to heal yourself. We are not rich and powerful but we are rich in other ways." 

Methos looked at them and could not think they were not earnest in their desire. "How is it that you trust me? You don't know me." 

"Listen, my boy," said Aveta, "we know that we are taking a chance, but then, life itself is a gamble. Is it not?" 

"Yes, but why?" 

She touched his face with her hand so as to direct his attention firmly to her. "It is simply the right thing to do and that is all." 

In the days that followed, Methos' anger and confusion wore away. The family that he would come to know was mostly from Gaul and held onto their Celtic traditions. Methos could be comfortable with this. The house of Lepidus was a wonderful place to hide from the rest of the world. He involved himself with the daily activities of making a simple living. Lepidus could boast that he was the best sword maker in all Italy. He had a ferocious passion for his craft so characteristic of northern peoples, unlike the Romans who viewed swords merely as tools. He had more work than he could handle and generals, senators and other important people frequently show up at his door to purchase his masterpieces. 

Methos would watch and help at the forge. He sometimes lent Aveta a hand when someone needed healing. Moreover, he enjoyed the large extended family of Aveta's many offspring. He taught them all how to read and write. He joked, and laughed, and roughhoused with the men as he hadn't done in many long years and flirted with the women. He ate simply but well. His appearance changed. He looked stronger and more muscular. The softness of the partrician life disappeared. He let his hair grow longer so as to fit in with the appearance of the rest of the family. 

Months turned into years and Methos took a young widow, Aya, as his wife and adopted her two children. Aya was a woman of considerable charm. Within her healing embrace, Methos found it easy to release his worst experiences and they would float away like dry leaves caught on a rushing stream of water. He spent the next seventeen years in blissful contentment, so different than anything else he had experienced before. There were no politicians, scheming servants, or ungrateful masters to deal with. No Horsemen or generals, war or famine to interfere with life. No Julia or Publius. Best of all, there was no Game. His worst taskmasters were the children that his wife accused him of spoiling. 

One day Aveta passed quietly away. Methos mourned her terribly along side of Lepidus. He was always in awe of her wisdom, patience, and dignity. He could only marvel that he with his three thousand years could be so humbled in the presence of one who had lived but six decades. 

Several years later, an awful pestilence came and took the gentle Aya and the two children who were then at the verge of adulthood. Methos could only bend to the natural course of events with an infinitely heavy heart. He went to Lepidus one day and told him that he thought it was time to go. Lepidus, of course, understood, knowing that his turn would not be far behind. Neither one was aging, at least physically. Methos knelt before him and asked his blessing upon him as would a son ask of his father. Parting company, Methos headed south, boarded a ship and returned to the burning sands of Egypt where he had hoped he could lose himself and ease his loss. 

* * *

_The present – Brittany_

Pulling over to the side of the road, Julia stopped the car and got out. She paced agitatedly back and forth until Methos grabbed her arms. She let out a big sigh looking up to the sky and then looked at him. 

"You have to believe me that I had no idea," she said frantically. "Gracilus had his throat cut near the villa and the money was gone, your money. I thought it was you and angry enough to do it. I was going to meet you there and we would have made plans for you. Methos, please believe me, I had no way of stopping that execution and never would I have just abandoned you." 

"I have to tell you it was a long time before I could deal with it, a damn long time. But, life just went on and I made a decision to go with it. Things went well for me and I didn't bother to go back and screw it up. I won't beat myself up over the past and neither should you. Just forget it." 

"Forget it?" 

"Absolutely. I want to deal with what's at hand now." He leaned over to kiss her cheek but she instead took him and kissed him deeply on the mouth. She felt a tiny sense of relief but he felt exhilarated. 

Within a short while, they turned down a path and pulled up in front of a farmhouse. The air was quiet and still and isolated. Beyond lay a field with a small hill; a great standing stone pierced the sky. Its presence dominated the landscape and told all who saw it that this was no ordinary patch of earth. 

Methos and Julia walked up to the door and were about to knock when Jonathan Gannon burst out with a drawn sword. 

Methos drew his own and backed several steps in retreat. "What is this?" he barked at Julia. "What is this?" 

"No, it's not what you think! I don't know who this is!" 

"Mr. Pierson, it's nice to make your acquaintance. I recognize you from the many pictures Mr. Dorsett took of you. You remember Mr. Dorsett? And, you might remember my partner of many years, Mr. Rowe? 

"Who the hell are you?" asked Methos. 

"Why, I am Jonathan Gannon. It is so good of you to be so accommodating. Your friend, Fox, was also very helpful." Gannon continued to advance. 

"Where is Fox?" demanded Methos. 

"Mr. Fox is somewhere between here and the Asian continent and a little tied up at the moment." Gannon swung and Methos blocked the first move and the swords rang out. Julia took out her own sword. Gannon spied her move and said. "The battle is engaged, Madame. Put up your sword." 

Several more strikes and advances. Methos parried and thrust, hoping to hold his own against this unknown opponent. Loose gravel made footwork difficult. Blood was drawn on both sides. 

Just then, Antonia appeared at the door of the house. "Gannon, I _can_ interfere," she said firmly. 

"Stop me, then" 

_"D'accord,"_ she said. 

The grips of the fighting blades became so hot that both men had to drop them. " _Mon ancienne,_ you have bested me again, _ne c'est pas?_ " Gannon said laughing. 

"Gannon, leave. I have an appointment with these people. Come back tomorrow, if you must." 

"I will see you again, Mr. Pierson," threatened Gannon. 

"I'm looking forward to it, Mr. Gannon," replied Methos, bluffing. Gannon walked away and went off in his car. Methos was panting from the exertion. The pain in his knee and side was intense and Julia helped him inside. 

Antonia offered a cup of tea. Methos looked up at the face that was ten thousand years old. She did not appear to look any different than a local citizen. Salt and pepper hair neatly braided around her head framed sparkling blue eyes. "I know you must be wondering about Gannon," said Antonia. "The truth is that I can't get rid of him. He shows up every few years no matter where I am. I understand that it was you who killed Rowe. I wish I could say I was sorry." 

Methos took some of the tea and felt much better. "How did you do that with the swords?" Methos wanted to know. 

"Oh, that was a cheap little diversion. Just a manipulation of energy. Nothing more. Just in the same way Julia can control her presence to other immortals." 

Antonia sat down next to Methos. She took his face into both her hands and studied it intently. "Ah," she said. "You are yourself very old. This much I can see in your eyes. You have suffered much from time to time. That is expected. Now you come to me for some answers, yes?" 

"With all respect, Madame, who are you?" 

"Methos!" reprimanded Julia. 

"Mon Dieu, it's alright, Julia. I am just an old woman twice your age. My people are those you and the mortal beings have come to call myths. Have you read the Rig Veda? Know Herakles or Agamemnon? Or Cu Chulainn, Maeve, and Oisin? Gaia, perhaps?" she said very deliberately. It dawned upon Methos who he was talking to. "I am not an immortal like you. If I get run through with a sword, get hit by a car, I die just like any other mortal. I just can live a long time, another ten thousand years or so if I am lucky." 

Methos sat back in the chair. Her words jogged something in his memory. Antonia went on. "Look in Genesis. The Bible refers to us as the Nephilim." 

Vague, indistinct, and disjointed pictures and words came to him. The sons of heaven. Of course, he had known once upon a time. 

"It is a shame that mortals live so short a time," said Julia. 

"Ah, no, Julia, a mortal may come back many times. Don't feel sorry for them. We get but one life and so do you if you lose your head. Now, what can I do for you, Methos?" 

"I was wounded by a gun and the wounds won't heal. I feel sick. I feel awful. I think I am dying." 

"What have you tried?" 

"I have been to a sacred well and tried to read some of the old books I have. I don't know what else to do." 

"I think he is giving up," said Julia. 

"No," Methos retorted, "I just wanted to come to terms with it, acknowledge that the end of my life just might be near. I need to deal with it, maybe accept that fact. For me, it is a lot." 

"Julia," said Antonia, "that seems like a reasonable response. Methos, you know so many things, you should put it all to good use. So many ancient secrets you have, yes? You think I don't know you, but I do. But tell me something, _cheri,_ when was the last time you went home?" 

"Home?" asked Methos. 

"Of course, home." 

"Paris, London, New York? I don't know what do you mean by home." 

"Methos, where is it that you came from originally? Where were you born?" 

"I don't know." 

"What do you mean, you don't know? You must have some memories." 

Methos began to look perplexed. "Yes, I have some memories but don't ask me where that was." 

"Methos," began Antonia, "even I know where I was born. Come man, think." 

"I don't know." 

"Understand me. There is a spring or stream, some body of water that you must, every now and then, go back to. It renews life, your life." Methos looked incredulous. "Mon Dieu, why is it that water has figured so prominently in all of history, not to mention religion? There is a very good reason. Think of all the legends, the myths, the stories. I could name a score. _Cheri,_ this is what you, as an immortal, must go and do. Go back to your home, hear me, your _home_ and drink, bathe in that water. I am surprised that this hasn't caught up with you a long time ago." 

"But the well, it didn't do anything." 

"It must be your very own, where you first saw the light of day." 

"Do all immortals need to do this?" 

" _Certainement._ But look, one must reach a very ancient age to _need_ it. And, along the way, many will go home and swim in a lake, or drink the tap water from their spring purely on accident and not even realize how they have done themselves a favor. But, you...you must have left and never returned. Why is that?" 

"Oh, I must have had a good reason," said Methos, a bit perplexed. "Aren't quickenings enough?" 

"No," said Antonia, "they are not enough once you have reached your age." 

Methos sat back in his chair and tried to think. It had been such a long time since he considered his origin. The birth of immortals is a mysterious thing, and his own place was quickly forgotten in light of experience after experience. "This is all I can do for you, Methos." He suddenly felt tired all over again. 

"Perhaps we should go now, Julia," he said. 

As the couple walked out the door, Methos turned to Antonia. "Fox! I remembered about Fox! Antonia, Fox knows my original language, we are from the same place. Oh, God, Gannon. Antonia, can you find out where Gannon took Ellery Fox? Tomorrow, when you see him?" 

"I can't know for sure if he will be back, but if he does, I'm sure he will tell me. He tells me everything. I fear for your friend's life." 

Methos could not imagine what could be happening to Fox, only that he knew the type of man Gannon was from having to deal with his type many times before. He had just managed to stay out of their way. Poor Fox must have walked right into Gannon and from what little Methos knew of Fox; he probably was not faring too well. He regretted letting Fox leave, for now he really needed him. He also developed a grudging admiration for him, as slight as it was. Fox was also a survivor. Now, it was back to Paris, and as much as he didn't want to do it, he would have to ask for help of MacLeod and Dawson. 

* * *

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapters 7 & 8   
Author's Notes 

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

12/12/2000 

* * *


	4. The Price of the Heart: Chapter 4

The Price of the Heart Chapter 4 by DeborahC

_The Price of the Heart_

By Deborah D. Charlow 

* * *

**_Chapter 4_**

_"The world doesn't change. Not in five hundred years, not in five thousand. It's only the details that change."_

Fox inched his way around the floor of the small space where he had been confined in the hold of a cargo plane. His hands were tied behind his back as well as his feet bound together. He was coming out of daze induced by strong sedatives given to him to keep him quiet on the long flight to Burma, now known as Myanmar. Soon they would land at Rangoon, or as the military regime, the State Peace and Development Council, called it, Yangon. 

Without any ceremony, two guards jostled Fox into the back of a truck that had pulled up to the rear of the plane. The only thing that Fox was aware of was the intense 100-degree heat and heavy air. He immediately broke into a sweat as the guards pushed him into an inside corner of the truck where they forced him to sit. A rancid odor mixed with mildew made breathing even more difficult. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he spied a four-inch cockroach scurry across the top of his shoe. He banged his feet against the floor of the truck hoping to scare it away. 

"First class, all the way," Fox said to the guards. 

"Shut up," one of them answered back. 

"So, what's next on the tour? When's lunch?" 

"Shut up! Do I make myself clear? The guard approached Fox with the butt of a rifle, holding it close to his face. 

"Yes, very." 

The guard returned to his seat at the open end near the back of the truck where he could get a little air. He offered the other guard, a native of Burma, a cigarette. The guard said very little for the duration of the trip. Soon the truck chugged into first gear and within a short time they drove out of the city and headed on the main road, first north then south, passing Moulmein, Ye, and Tavoy. They passed by the Yadana Natural Gas Pipeline Project in the Tenasserim Division, being built by ten thousand men forced into labor. After four days of travel, they arrived on the south side of Mergui at the end of the line. 

Here a large camp of about five hundred workers was forced into creating an airstrip out of virgin teak forest. Men had been plucked out of their own villages, off their own streets, to work without recompense. Soon, a general in the army would come with plans for building a private residence in addition to a military compound to keep the area secure. Fox had joined the project with instructions from Gannon that he was to receive "special preferential treatment." Getting off the truck, the silent guard loosened Fox's feet and brought him to a place just outside a stockade. The sound of the insects in the noon heat drowned out almost everything else. There was not a hint of air and the sun beat down so that just standing still in it was painful. 

Soon three guards surrounded him. The arrival of the truck and the Western passenger caused considerable interest. The largest of the guards took Fox by his shirt and slammed him up against the concrete wall of the stockade and groped him hard. Fox growled, pushed, then instinctively swung with his right foot and kicked, putting the man on the ground in a great deal of pain. The others took him and put him into chains, hands and feet, with enough leeway so that he could walk and then threw him on his stomach and held him down. A cheap and sharp chain was padlocked around his neck so as to keep him tethered like a dog. Fox fought as best he could to keep the chain off his neck. He could not believe what was happening to him. He howled obscene epithets at them. 

They attached his leash to the outside of the stockade wall and the small crowd parted as the large guard approached Fox. He turned to the others and announced in Burmese that Fox was going to belong to him, personally. Fox stared defiantly, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, not knowing a word of what the guard had said but understanding it all just the same from the reactions of the others. The guard smiled and the rest dispersed. The silent guard observed all this at a distance. 

The big guard, Mong, took a close look at his prize. He had not seen too many Westerners in his time and was curious. In Burmese, he told Fox that he would be back in the evening as he had other things to do. Fox was relieved when he went away. He sat chained to the wall for the rest of the day and into the night. The workers from the forest marched into the stockade where they spent the night chained to one another with barely enough room to sit, let alone lie down. No one paid any attention to Fox other than a glance in his direction. Later in the night he heard the approach of someone and thought it could be the big guard. Slowly, the silent guard from the truck came close with a small bowl of rice in one hand and bottled water in the other. 

"Hello, I am Than," the guard said in English. "I have some food for you. I was able to get some vegetables, too." Not only did Than speak English, he spoke with an Oxford accent. "And what might your name be?" 

Fox was dumbfounded. "Ellery Fox," he barely managed. 

"I know it's not much, at the moment, but I can perhaps get a bit more later on. I'm terribly sorry to see you here. Damned unlucky." 

"Who are you?" Fox wanted to know. 

"Just a sympathetic bystander at the moment. Got to go. I have a little chore to attend to. See you later." 

"Don't leave me!" cried Fox. Than motioned for him to be quiet and slipped away carefully. 

Fox spent the night on the ground in the same place. His little house back in the States seemed like a place on the other side of the galaxy and just as out of reach. When morning arrived, the sound of screeching birds was everywhere. Troops of monkeys jostled each other through the treetops. A small bowl of rice was passed out to everyone then suddenly there was a commotion at the other side of the camp. Someone had cut Mong's throat, though no one was at all surprised. The military quickly cleaned up the area and without any delay, the workers were sent out into the forest to cut down more brush. Fox went with them, following them with a shovel. 

During the day, the guards would walk over to him and beat him with bamboo sticks calling him lazy and stupid. The monsoon rains were beginning and it seemed everything turned to mud. The rain did nothing to cool the air and if anything, it seemed hotter than it did before. Lightening would explode nearby as he worked and no one so much as looked up. 

At night, he was still chained to the outside wall. Than would come to give him extra food, a candybar, sometimes a Coke. He was left by himself most of the time when he wasn't working. All the while he kept thinking to that it was now the twenty first century and things like this were just not supposed to be happening. He somehow thought that things would be different from anything else before. 

After a week, Than came to say that he would be out of the camp for two or three days. Fox had come to rely heavily upon the few minutes they shared to help keep him focused. Although Fox was not aware of the situation, the other guards did not bother him because Than had taken an interest in him, and apparently Than had important connections but he nevertheless needed to remain discreet. 

At the first opportunity, soldiers came and took Fox to another part of the camp. He sat in one of their barracks as they talked, obviously about him. Some of them began to get angry and they argued. It was decided among them that the American could use a little closer lesson in the finer aspects of Burmese culture. Burma is the largest producer of opium in the world so obtaining heroin would be no problem. Within half an hour, one of the soldiers came back with a syringe full of the narcotic. They wrapped a tourniquet around Fox's left arm admonishing him in broken English, not to struggle. It wasn't long, five or six minutes, before the drug took effect. It sent Fox into spasms of violent nausea and vomiting. The reaction made the guards push Fox out the door and he tumbled down a short flight of steps retching. They carried him back to the wall and chained him to it once more. The rain came again. 

Every night for the next five days, the guards came and took Fox back to their barracks, each time increasing the dose just a little more. Thereafter, his body adjusted and craved the warmth and euphoria; his mind sought the alternate reality. Pretty soon, they no longer had to chain Fox up. They took bets to see if he would escape but he didn't. After the rice was passed out in the evening, Fox would go to them. They started taking bets to see how fast he would get there. The chain that wrapped around Fox's neck remained with the excess criss-crossed around his body. He was fairly covered with mud most of the time, living outside with little opportunity to wash. He could manage enough work without the guards beating him in the field, at least not too often, but now he had a heavy burden. He had to wonder if they would cut him off from his next fix. He had become hooked quickly, a problem he had managed to avoid all of his life. Now he could add "junkie" to his long list of accomplishments. He had to laugh at himself. Each new day he swore he would not go back, he'd try to escape even if he didn't know which way to go, but each evening he went to the barracks prepared to do anything and sometimes did. 

* * *

_Paris –_

After the quick trip to Brittany, Methos and Julia stopped by his flat for a pit stop before traveling to the Le Blues Bar to see Joe. Methos needed more information on Fox that Joe could perhaps supply. The day had suddenly seemed to turn into a trial for Methos and he felt the pain returning once more. They got in and Julia looked around, noticing how secluded and safe Methos' place seemed. 

The previous occupants had left the heavy, dark green velvet curtains, which lent the room a somewhat decadent feeling. The whole effect was as if she had walked into a genie's bottle. The style of which Methos had grown accustomed in recent times had been sparse and modern, but this place was different. However, it did remind Julia of the little room that Methos occupied when he first came to her household. When he had some money, he also placed draperies around that room, mostly to try and keep out the cold, but the effect was sensual and flowing. Now in the present, Methos just liked the fact the curtains helped to hide the light coming from the apartment at night and made him feel more secure. 

Julia excused herself to freshen up and Methos proceeded to the kitchen. Inside a cupboard, he grabbed a small bottle, opened it and took a swig. At that moment, Julia unexpectedly walked in on him. 

"What is that?" she asked. 

"Oh, said Methos, a little startled. "Oh, nothing. Just a little something for pain." 

"So what is it?" 

"Nothing. Just a little laudanum." 

"Did I hear you right? You said laudanum." 

"Yeah, so?" 

"Where did you find that? I didn't think it was possible to get that anymore." Julia was perplexed. 

"If you look, you can find most anything." 

"Have you lost your mind?" 

"Are you finished playing twenty questions. Can we leave now?" Julia just stared back angrily. "Look," said Methos, "I need something for the pain. Tylenol just wasn't working. I knew this would." 

"Oh, you knew. Something tells me you've had this stuff before. Laudanum isn't exactly the drug of choice these days." 

"I have been clean for a hundred and six years. I went through the sixties and the seventies and never did anything more than some occasional grass." That was not quite the truth but it was close enough. 

"This is why you have been falling asleep so often. You're helping yourself into your own grave, you know. If you are dying, this can't be doing you any good. How long have you been on this?" 

Methos turned his back and leaned on a chair. "Since I got back from Cleveland. I just needed a little help." 

"You have friends, you have me." 

Methos turned around. He could still sense that she still only wanted to rescue him. _But I don't have you, it's the other way around,_ he thought to himself. "Come on, let's go," he said curtly. 

In a far corner at Joe's place, Methos, Julia and Joe sat and discussed what the options were. They were talking quietly when Duncan came in and sat down. They told Joe and Duncan what had been learned from Antonia. Julia then made another trip to the ladies rooms. Both Duncan and Joe watched her as she walked away. 

"Where did you find her?" asked Duncan. 

"She looks like an Italian movie star. Didn't think you'd have enough class for someone like her," Joe chimed in. 

"We go back a long way." 

"So," said Joe curiously, "what's the story?" 

"Why do you need to know?" asked Methos getting a little annoyed. 

"Look," said Joe, "I know who she is. I figured it out and found her in the files. It just might make things a little easier. Every little bit helps." Julia walked up behind Methos. 

She began. "I bought Methos right off a line of chained slaves who worked a mine. I knew he was an immortal and just happened to have felt sorry for him. I owned him for twenty-seven years and then a tribunal had him crucified for assisting in a slave rebellion." 

Methos' head slid down on to the table and he placed his hands over it. "Thank you." 

"Does it help, Joe?" asked Julia. 

"Twenty-seven years?" asked Duncan. "That's a long time to be...." 

"I knew it. I knew you'd say that." 

"Crucified, huh?" said Joe. "Wow." 

"Yes," snapped Methos, "crucified and then thrown away on a rubbish pile. And, that was only the first time. Does that help?" 

"Hey, it might." 

"Could we please talk about the problem I have now? Antonia said I need to go home and only Fox knows where that might be," said Methos. "Gannon kidnapped him, put him on a plane to Asia or something." 

"As a matter of fact," said Joe, "I do know where Fox is." 

"Oh, how's that?" asked Methos. 

"I put a Watcher on him before he was a block away. Gannon sent him to Burma and there should be a Watcher on him now." 

Methos looked at Joe. "That won't make him very happy. It seems he has this thing against Watchers. He wanted no part of you. That's why he beat it out of here so fast." 

Joe said, "That's too bad but if we know where he is, it wouldn't be such a stretch to find out what you need to know." 

"Burma isn't exactly around the corner. What if I don't make it?" 

Duncan's reservations about Methos' problem returned. He was uneasy about dealing with immortals he had just met, especially ones who could hide themselves like Julia. Well, here it was. He knew he'd be in this mess that belonged to Methos yet he had to do something. He was mindful of the fact that Methos had placed his life on the line several times for him. He was not about to let nature take its course. He would intervene. Duncan cleared his throat. "I'll go and get him." 

"I was rather hoping you'd say that," said Methos. 

"If Joe can tell me exactly where I can find him, I'll get him and bring him back. How hard can that be?" 

"Pretty damn hard, if you're going to Burma," said Joe. "It's a repressive government run by warlords. Most of the economy is fueled by the opium and heroin trade. Not exactly a trip to the park. It's hard to keep in touch with the couple of Watchers that are in place." 

"It's worth a shot if you can find out anything more, Joe." There, Duncan said it. Now he was going to be in it. He didn't mind facing strong odds stacked against Methos, just impossible ones. What else could he do? Methos couldn't do it. The job fell to him. "See what you can do." 

"In the meantime," said Julia, "we can try to find out more about you from here." 

"What are you proposing, Julia?" asked Methos. 

"Have you ever been hypnotized, Methos?" 

He laughed out loud. "Come on. I remember when Dr. Mesmer's little parlor game was all the rage. I never really believed that stuff." 

Julia looked at him seriously. "Hypnotism is a legitimate diagnostic tool and therapy." 

"So I've heard, but I can't see it working on me." 

"And why is that?" Joe asked. 

"Because I'm....different. I'm too old and not so gullible." 

Julia's dark eyes began to well up and before Methos knew what was happening, he found himself sitting a psychiatrist's office across town. He heard his name called and reluctantly shuffled down the hall mumbling something about women. Joe leaned back with a magazine next to Julia with a knowing smile and she smiled back obviously pleased with herself. 

As Methos approached the office, he knew immediately that he was in the presence of another immortal. The doctor introduced himself as Joseph Gray and said he had seen numerous immortals over the years. A long sabre with a bright blade was displayed behind him above his desk just within reach. 

"When Julia called me and explained the situation, I thought perhaps I could do something for you," the doctor said. "Especially interesting to me is this sickness that has suddenly come upon you; most interesting. What a dilemma, eh? Let's get started, shall we." The doctor took a recent history of the illness. 

"So what have you been doing for this pain you have?" 

"Laudanum." 

"Not exactly the drug of choice these days but effective. Sooner or later we'll have to deal with this." 

"Yes, I can, I have, and will do again provided I live," Methos said curtly. 

"You will, Adam, I have no doubt." Dr. Gray darkened the room slightly. 

"I would like you to focus on this pencil, Adam." The doctor held it up between the two of them. Methos projected a look, a sideways glance that did not hide what he thought of the procedure. 

"What's the problem, Adam? I sense you don't want to be here." 

"Look, Dr. Gray, I don't see how this will accomplish anything." 

"You've got to give it a chance. I've dealt with this type of problem before and had some excellent results. I won't make you any promises, however." 

"I'm not a good subject." 

Dr. Gray smiled. "Maybe, but the fact that you are sitting here means you realize you need some help; give it a chance otherwise you are wasting my time. There are people in the waiting room who feel differently than you and want you to win this battle." 

"Okay," Methos said without enthusiasm. 

"I know how hard this is for immortals, to open up, to expose secrets, to be vulnerable. I understand that thoroughly. Just try to think of this as a means to an end." 

Methos saw the practical side. The words "means to an end" usually caught his attention. 

"Now," said Dr, Gray, " I want you to put all your energy, all of your being into focusing on this pencil. Good. Now relax." 

Over the next hour, Dr. Gray took a tour of the world with Methos as his guide. Then he concluded the session and gave Methos a small supply of methadone to take whenever he felt that he needed the laudanum. He told him to come back the next day. Methos actually felt in good spirits when he left the office, all at the suggestion of Dr. Gray. 

  
The three rounded a corner toward the car at middle of a block on a quiet street. They were smiling and laughing and soon would meet MacLeod for dinner before he took off for Burma. Out of a small group stepped Gannon, blocking the way in front of Methos. Two henchmen grabbed Julia and Joe with large knives at their throats. Methos could feel it was time for another fix and with the new danger at hand became breathless. He looked at the other two, totally helpless as Gannon slammed him down to the pavement. Joe valiantly protested. 

"Shut up, you pest," hissed Gannon. "I see your pretty little nursemaid is still with you, Mr. Pierson. What ever could be the matter? Nothing to say?" 

Methos lay on the ground trying to recover himself. Gannon bent down and held a stiletto at his throat. Methos could not have felt more anger. 

Gannon continued. "I just wanted you to know that this will be the first of many encounters. I think you owe me since I am without my friend of many years, Mr. Rowe. I lay the blame directly in your direction." 

"He attacked me. I see you're not into playing the game fairly," said Methos. 

"Sir, I never play fair. See you soon, Mr. Pierson. Next time, I won't be so nice." 

With that, the attackers disappeared. Methos struggled to his feet and was visibly shaking. "Julia, let's get out of here," he said as he got into the car. Joe was stunned by the reaction Methos had exhibited. He had seen Methos in difficult situations before and he was always so cool. Maybe it was his illness. 

Methos fumbled with the methadone and choked down a couple of pills. 

"What was that?" Joe wanted to know as Julia sped off the block. 

"Something that the doctor gave me for a little _stress,_ Joe." 

"No, I think I've seen those before and it reminds me of methadone." 

"Alright, okay." 

"That's it, isn't it, Methos?" said Julia. "Methos needs to get off laudanum he's been taking for pain." 

"Christ, woman, I don't remember you being such a blabbermouth!" 

"Hey, Methos, I guess you figured you needed your life to be more complicated than it already is," said Joe. 

"That's right; it's my life. You can't understand the pain." Too late. Methos had stuck his foot in his mouth and knew it. Joe said nothing and looked out the car window. 

"Methos," said Julia, "Joe just had a knife at his throat and he deserves to know everything that is going on here. You think you can conceal drug addiction? Think again." 

Now Methos was thoroughly chastened and hung his head. Julia caressed Methos' face with her free hand while driving. "My sweet Methos," she said but Methos did not want anybody's pity, least of all Julia's. He feared she would never see him as an equal. 

At the restaurant, Joe filled Duncan in on all the details as to how and where to meet Fox's watcher, Than. Ever since the reorganization of the Watchers, the group had unofficially split into two groups, those who chose the traditional policy of watching and never interfering and those who felt more interaction between Watchers and immortals was necessary. The prevailing philosophy now was that each Watcher was to follow the dictates of his or her own conscience. Than was an activist and definitely felt inclined to help out an immortal if he could. 

The group also discussed what to do about avoiding Gannon. Methos wanted to leave town but everyone nixed that idea in light of the fact that Methos needed to continue to see Dr. Gray. Julia had been silent during most of the discussion. Twirling a celery stalk, she became very angry at the thought of someone like Gannon being able to terrorize herself and her friends. Soon, she became very animated, holding the celery like a weapon. 

"I am not about to let vermin like Gannon think that he can do awful things to people. Just think, if he could do this to us with such impunity, what has he done in the past or doing to people now. I'm not going to avoid him, I'm going to stop him!" 

"Ok, I'm all for suggestions...." said Methos. 

"First, we need to find out more about this jerk." This unlady-like demeanor surprised Methos. He had never seen this side of her before and he was thoroughly amused. "I have lots of connections in Paris," she said. "I know lots of people. In fact, I know someone who is due back into the city any day now. She would not be above framing someone and sticking it to them if the cause was right. I believe she's coming in from Toronto." 

The three men shot looks at each other. "Where do you know this person from?" Duncan wanted to know. 

"The convent," replied Julia. 

"Oh, well, then...." 

"She wasn't there for too long, as I recall, but we have stayed in touch over the years. She's always on the go." 

"This friend of yours," asked Joe, "does she have a penchant for nice big pieces of expensive jewelry?" 

"Now that you mention it, she has gotten into trouble now and then and it always seemed to revolve around jewelry or art." 

Duncan stood up. "Well, I've got a plane to catch. Warmest regards to our mutual friend. Gentlemen and dearest lady." 

"Good luck, Duncan," Julia said as she kissed him on the cheek. "God be with you." Then he was gone. 

"What did he mean by mutual friend?" she asked. "Do you know Amanda?" 

* * *

Methos returned the next day to Dr. Gray. They quickly commenced the session. Methos seemed eager to have it done and over not really believing that any more information would come of it. He didn't realize how susceptible he was to the suggestions that Dr. Gray made to him. Under hypnosis and the methadone, the doctor would make getting off the laudanum relatively easy for this really old guy. The big task at hand was peering into a depth that was 5,000 years old. 

By anybody's standards, that was an incredibly long time ago and surprised the doctor when Methos bypassed the pyramids and older societies on his journey backwards. Earliest memories included learning to ride a horse and wielding not a sword but an ax with a stone head. He spoke of a nomadic life, of being on the move to follow herds, of raiding other camps, of warriors eager for their own personal glory so that the storytellers would remember them around the fires when they were themselves no longer there. He would remember a hard and rough life, growing up fast, not being treated as an equal member of the clan but living on the edge, at least until they allowed him into battle. He showed them that he could raid and loot others' possessions as well as any other to increase the wealth of his tribe. He didn't hesitate to kill when necessary. 

He would remember the mountains and snow on the peaks in the summer months and then spending winters down by the sea where there was a milder climate and abundant fish. Also there would be trade with other people who came to them by boat occasionally. There was not always war. Still, he remained apart and often lonely but he would always do what was expected of him. It pleased Horlan, the man in whose care he had been placed, and it was always good to keep Horlan happy. 

Horlan always escaped death in battle. He could not be killed and so was feared by many. Methos feared him as well. Yet Horlan would not lead the clan and pointedly saying only to Methos that would only make him more of a target to friends as well as to enemies. Horlan would tell him that he prefered to be the hound at the side of the king rather than to be the king. 

One summer, the tribe had stretched themselves far to the east following a herd of deer and the mountains gave way to a vast plain before them. A fierce people would encounter them in battle and these people delighted in taking the heads of their enemies. So much so that they would wear them on their belts into battle, keep them at the doors of their dwellings, or give them a special place and consult with them on the future. 

One day as dusk was about to fall, young Methos spotted Horlan in hot battle with one of these headtakers on the side of a hill. No one else was around and Methos stayed behind the brush to watch. After a short while, in a fevered pitch, axes clashed one blow after another until Horlan's opponent appeared to weaken. The headtaker pulled out a short copper knife and quickly stuck it into the ribs of Horlan. Horlan refused to go down and with a kick to the man's stomach, the ax just an inch away from Horlan's neck; the man lost his balance and fell to the ground. One howling battle cry and Horlan's ax fell upon his enemy's neck. Horlan fell to the ground next to him, apparently dead. 

Methos didn't know what to do. He didn't know whether to be happy or upset. He slowly got up from his hiding place and walked within a few feet of the bodies when a great flash of white light hurled him away and to the ground. The very air had exploded in front of him and when he looked up he saw Horlan in the center of a whirlwind and the lightening dancing around him. He had never known such fear or awe. When the fury ceased, Horlan limped over to Methos and rested on his ax. Methos lay prostrate before him trembling, calling him a god. 

"Come on, boy," said Horlan wearily. "I have much to tell you. It is good that you have seen one of these quickenings before it happens to you." Methos followed dazed, a little singed, and a little worse for wear. 

Dr. Gray was still not satisfied. Methos could have been anywhere from the Alps to the Crimea and to the Russian steppes. "Adam," he said "tell me about your mother." 

"I had no mother," he replied. 

"Think back further, there must have been some woman in your life when you were very small." 

An image came to him, a happy image but fuzzy nevertheless. He saw the very large village of a settled people. Some houses had two stories, some had basements. All were brightly painted. His mind drifted between laughter and quiet moments and thought this is all a dream, yet he knew otherwise. His mind went once more to the hill covered in flowers and the steep ravine where a river tumbled into a waterfall in his sixteenth summer. He saw the beautiful woman beckoning him to come and get some water on a hot summer day. All of his family was there, running and splashing, yelling with delight until he took that step forward. 

Suddenly, a horde of horses and screams filled the gorge and there was confusion. The women and girls were picked up and thrown on horses, carried away. He would never see any of them again. The men and boys were slaughtered all at once and the pleasant stream ran red. Methos watched and ran forward. From behind him came three warriors with painted faces. They whirled around and hit him on the side of the head and left him for dead, bleeding on the ground. Yet Methos did not die that day. Horlan came up the hill a few minutes later and saw the boy on the ground. Knowing what he was, Horlan scooped him up and carried him back to his camp. When Methos came around hours later, he did not remember anything, who he was or where he was from. 

"Adam, Adam, sit back down," said Dr. Gray. "When I snap my fingers, you will not remember any of this and you will feel awake and refreshed." _Snap._

"See," Methos said , "what did you learn? Nothing, I suspect. What could you learn in only one minute." 

"Adam, you talked for more than an hour. I learned a great deal but unfortunately I still don't know exactly where you are from. I can only guess." 

"Well, where do you think it might be?" 

"Adam, you're memories go so far back, that you come from a time before there were cities and landmarks. You are, perhaps, from a late Neolithic or perhaps very early Copper Age period. This is quite incredible. I am going to give the tape, with your permission, to a trusted friend, an expert historian. You did describe weapons and gear, horse's tack, and dwellings. I think all this came from someplace in Europe and perhaps to the east but to pin point that water source you need....I'm not the person to do it. I am sorry." 

Methos sighed. He noticed his eyes were wet. He got up to leave. "Thank you, doctor," he said. 

"Adam, you will be coming back in three days. You still need to take care of your other problem and we'll look into how I can do more for you." 

"Do you mean funeral arrangements?" 

"No, that's not what I mean. You will not give up hope. You are a survivor." 

* * *

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapters 7 & 8   
Author's Notes 

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

12/12/2000 

* * *


	5. The Price of the Heart: Chapter 5

The Price of the Heart Chapter 5 by DeborahC

_The Price of the Heart_

By Deborah D. Charlow 

* * *

**_Chapter 5_**

_"May you live in interesting times."_

The very long trip made MacLeod edgy. Some twenty-six hours after leaving Paris, he arrived in Bangkok. Mac had forgotten what the heat and humidity of Southeast Asia could be like. He considered it the greatest good fortune to be met by Than holding a sign with his name on it. Than sported a happy grin and ushered Mac into an old Ford sedan and sped off to a distant location on the far west side of the city. Finally, MacLeod rested in a comfortable house in a section not normally seen by tourists. After a much needed nap, MacLeod sat down with Than and plotted out exactly what they needed to do and how they were going to do it. 

"Mr. MacLeod, this will be a rather complex operation, given the circumstances. I hope you know what a difficult situation we have here due to the current policies of my country." 

"Please," said Mac, "call me Duncan." 

"Certainly, Mr. Duncan." 

"No, just Duncan or Mac. Mac is fine." 

"Mr. Mac?" 

"No mister. Just Duncan." 

Than looked at Duncan in a way that suggested a bit of frustration. "When I am in my part of the world, I would prefer to adhere to the customs that are in place here, if you don't mind, Mr. Duncan. That is what is known as _Bamahsan Chinn_ or Burmeseness, if you will. 

Mac smiled. Many years had past since he had been in the Orient. "Of course. Forgive me." 

"Of course." 

"And I address you by?" 

"You may call me U Than." Mac smiled again knowing that smiles were important. 

"Mr. Duncan, as I think you already know, Burma is run by a military junta that has no regard for law or life. All my countrymen suffer under this oppression. All our hopes are fixed on Aung San Suu Kyi, the leader of the National League for Democracy. She also happens to be my cousin," Than said proudly. 

"Yes, I know that she won eighty percent of the vote." 

"And the military opposition won two percent but that didn't make any difference and still holds on to power. She is no longer under house arrest after six years but she can not move about, her life is still in great danger. Her husband has died in the meantime and she can't see children in England. She remains in Burma, a symbol of freedom for my people." 

U Than had his complete attention. 

"And then, you know, there are the different ethnic groups, some such as the Karen and the Kachin who are sympathetic with our cause and others who are not, such as the Shan and Wa and those that cooperate with the military and with them, run the opium and heroin trade." 

U Than opened up a map and pointed to the place where Fox was in captivity. "This area, the Tenesserim Division, is where the Yadana Pipeline is located. It is a very important and stratigically vital. It is known as a 'brown area' due to all the military presence there. With the exception of the city of Mergui or Myiek, as it is now called, there are no tourists, no Westerners. A large military installation and airport is being built with forced labor to the southeast, your Mr. Ellery being one among the many. I have seen and spoken with Mr. Ellery several times but it has been ten days since I had seen him last. I had put off going back when I received word that you were coming. In addition to getting Mr. Ellery out, my colleagues and I, with your help, intend to free the workers and slow down the work being done there." 

"Okay," said Duncan, "let's get started." 

"Jolly good, Mr. Duncan. First, we'll take a plane from Bangkok to Hua Hin and then we fly to Mergui. From there, I smuggle you out by truck to Theinkim and the installation, which is only twenty miles from the Thai border. After we get Mr. Ellery, we go south to Lenya and then directly to Bang Saphor in Thailand. It will be tricky to get past all the military, but we can hide the two of you and bribes can work wonders should we encounter any resistance." 

"Do we have an alternate plan?" asked Duncan. 

"Well," said Than, "the only other alternative is to go directly east, but it is extremely dangerous. The Bilauktaung Mountain Range is steep and covered only by footpaths through thick jungle. The only nearby pass is heavily guarded. You won't get by there." 

"Why not go east, then. Go back to Mergui." 

"Afterwards, the entire province will be on heavy alert and the airport, I'm sure, will shut down. The Mergui Archipeligo in the Andaman Sea is infested with pirates. I want to get your friend out. I think we can do this." 

"Hmmm. Piece of cake, U Than." 

"A piece of cake indeed, Mr. Duncan." 

* * *

_Paris –_

A week had passed and there had been no word from Duncan or the Watcher U Than. Everyone's unspoken fears lay heavy on their minds. Methos was not in good spirits when Dr. Gray had told him to skip the Friday appointment and come in on Saturday instead. They could have a long uninterrupted talk and there was even some good news to be had. Gannon had not shown himself in all that time and there was reason to believe that he was out of the country. Julia spent some time tracking him down and getting to know his habits. Methos insisted that he go by himself to the doctor's office. He was feeling rather okay for the first time in a long while. However, by the time he got there, he was once again having trouble. 

He walked up to the office door on the second floor. A note from Gray told Methos to go inside and wait. He would be there shortly. Methos opened the door and sat down. It was quiet. Sunshine streamed in through the windows. Methos picked up a magazine that sat underneath a cassette recorder then put the magazine down. He became curious that a recorder should be in the waiting room and he hit the "play" switch. He heard his own voice relating the events of his past life, sometimes in English and sometimes in his own language. He thought he should turn it off but he came fascinated until he had heard what had become of his family, of watching his father and brothers murdered, his mother and sisters carried off. 

He slammed the stop button down and pushed it away. What he had just heard became as clear to him as if it had happened yesterday. His whole early life came back but he still did not know where it took place. He was horrified and paced the room. Surely, this must have been an oversight on part of the doctor but then... He flew to the inner office where he had been undergoing the hypnosis and threw the door open. He stopped short. On the desk before him lay the severed head of Dr. Gray. 

"Oh God," he heard himself say. "Oh God." He lunged out of the office with his drawn sword and looked for a back entrance. He found a narrow alley and quietly, at half a run, made his way to the street. His car was surrounded by Gannon's men, standing about chatting like ushers at a wedding. Methos swallowed and went back. The end of alley was blocked and his only way out was to climb over a wall. Gathering all his strength, Methos lifted himself up and threw one leg over. The pain was most intense. His sword dropped from his hand and clanged on the pavement below him. He landed with a thud without his weapon on the other side and took off at a slow limp to the street. One of the thugs already had made his way up to Dr. Gray's office and out of a back window spied Methos hurrying down the opposite street. The sound of the sword alerted the others and a car whirled up the back street but Methos was nowhere in sight. If they lost him, they would be in more trouble than they cared to think about. 

Methos had doubled back and went through an adjoining alley. Soon he saw the car go by and continued on his way. He knew of a train station nearby and probably could get a taxi. He decided to chance it. With a great deal of difficulty, he walked into the station and looked about for help. Instead, he saw Gannon's men mulling around the entrance. He couldn't wait for a cab to come. He saw a train was about to leave and tried to buy a ticket. " _En,_ " he said to the ticket seller. He was trying to say _un_ , or one. 

_"Pardon, monsieur?"_ said the man. 

Methos was suddenly aware he was about to try ask for a ticket in a language that hadn't been spoken in more than fifteen hundred years. He caught himself feeling confused, in agony, and very tired. 

_"Oui, monsieur. Je voudrais un billet pour ce train. La bas."_

_"Mais oui, un billet au Reims."_

Methos moved with the crowd on to the train and found a seat where he could access the door should he need to do so. From an angle, he could see Gannon's men drift out of sight but little did he know that two of them had boarded the train after him. Long experience had told him to switch trains and at the first opportunity, he got off at the next station that was not far away. Methos jumped across tracks and headed for the opposite side. By the time Gannon's men saw Methos' retreat, the train had picked up speed and Methos was clear of them. He found a sheltered area and for the first time began to feel lost and hopeless. What could he do now? No one had heard from MacLeod and they definitely should have by now, something. 

He couldn't go back home or to Joe. That would endanger them. Holy Ground? Gannon's men were not the type to respect Holy Ground and Gannon himself said he never played by the rules. Death at Gannon's hands did not promise to be quick or dignified and least of all Methos did not want to give him the satisfaction of winning. Gannon respected no one or nothing, except...Antonia. "Well," thought Methos, "at least I might be able to die in some peace." Methos bought another ticket and headed for Brittany. 

  
Amanda checked her face in the compact mirror before leaving the plane. Julia waited just outside of the exit and caught Amanda's eye. They both smiled and laughed and gave each other a hug, then walked quickly toward baggage, both talking at the same time. 

"It must be two years," said Amanda. 

"No, actually it's been more like three,"said Julia. "I remember it's been exactly three years since I've been in Paris. That's when I started negotiations for that exhibition and now it's all wrapped up." 

"So you're celebrating?" asked Amanda. 

"Well, it started out that way. Now I'd like to ask you for your help. You know a guy called Methos?" 

Amanda stopped dead in her tracks. 

"And you know Joe Dawson?" 

Amanda stared. 

"And Duncan MacLeod." 

"What gives?" 

"Are you hungry? We can do a little catching up on our way to Joe's." 

The two women entered Le Blues Bar, ordered lunch and sat down at a table. Within a minute, Joe walked in with a heavy expression. 

"Hi, Amanda. How are you doing?" 

"What's the matter, Joe? I hate to say it but you look like you lost your best friend." 

"Methos. Methos is gone. Vanished." 

Julia looked horrified. Amanda smiled. "You know Methos, here one day, gone the next. He's okay." 

"Not this time, Amanda," said Joe as he sat down. "I just found his car near Dr. Gray's office. I also found Dr. Gray's head." 

"Oh, God, oh God, oh God!" Julia's voice rose. 

"Methos took this guy's head?" Amanda asked. 

"No, no." She turned to Joe. "I told him I should go with him but he insisted. He was like a little kid; he just wore me down. Oh, Joe. I'll never forgive myself." Julia started to cry. Joe held Julia's hands across the table. 

"Somebody, please fill me in here," demanded Amanda feeling a little panicky. 

After several minutes, Joe finished with the details. "And on top of everything else, we haven't heard anything from MacLeod. It's been a week." 

"This Jonathan Gannon you're talking about... _The_ Jonathan Gannon?" asked Amanda. 

"I guess, what other?" said Julia. 

"He's a big philanthropist. He donates money to hospitals and cancer research, AIDS research and I don't know what else. This can't be the same guy." 

"Do you know him?" asked Joe. 

"I know him from a distance. I've seen him at one of the big gala balls he throws. I think that was for Romanian orphans. Big guy, dark, very handsome." 

Julia and Joe recognized the description. "He has to go," said Julia. "Take him down." 

"Wait, wait. If you kill him, all this money for these causes will dry up. Maybe we can talk to him?" 

"Amanda, this guy is a killer, a monster. I've been on the business end of one of his blades. His company cooperates with a military regime that puts innocent people, women and even children in slavery. And now, who knows, he just might have killed three people. 

"I don't know if I can help you. Think of all that money for good causes." 

"Amanda, have you been listening?" Joe was becoming annoyed. "Duncan, Methos, and Ellery Fox." 

"I know I sound crazy but a lot has happened to me recently. I have a tough time with violence anymore; I can't just go around assassinating people. I have to think about this." 

"Amanda, there is nothing to think about!" Julia insisted. 

"I understand, yes, completely, but there must be some other way. And, you don't know for sure what has happened to Duncan, Methos, or that guy. They might have just gotten delayed or tied up or something." 

"Tied up is probably about right," said Joe. 

"Okay, okay. I think I can at least get an inside edge here, a way into his company," said Amanda. 

"I haven't been able to find out too much on him personally," said Julia. "I want to know what his weakness is." 

"Going right for the jugular. Julia, this doesn't sound like you at all," said Amanda. 

"I haven't always been a lady. Circumstances demand certain actions. Now, tell me this, did you know Jonathan Gannon was an immortal?" 

"Come again?" 

"That's right." 

"But I've been in the same room with him. You are the only one who can hide your presence." 

"Nope. And what's more, he certainly knows you are immortal." 

"Now this is becoming interesting." 

* * *

_Burma_

In the early evening light, Duncan emerged dripping wet from the coffin-like space hidden in the truck that took him deep into the heart of the Tenesserim Division. He washed down a litre of bottled water and poured some over his head. He knew what he had to do. U Than had been over the plan fifty times and the whole thing was risky at best. He moved away from the truck and U Than handed him an AK–47, a .45 auto handgun, a blackened machete, and enough MREs or C-rations to last 3 days should he need it. The truck rumbled off to the rendezvous place. U Than pointed the way for Duncan to follow. They checked their watches and U Than gave Mac a silent thumbs up and a broad smile. 

From the road Mac could look down into the compound. The evening meal had finished and the camp had begun to settle down. Five hundred feet away was the stockade filled to the perimeter with worn-out men. To the left stood three wooden barracks side by side and beyond, the dirt path that led north to the work area. Soldiers aimlessly milled around the area waiting their duty to be over and the night watch put into place. All in all, a soft routine that masked so much suffering and fear. 

Mac inched his way slowly down the steep slope, keeping under the cover of bushes and palms. Finally, he thought he could go no farther without being seen. He checked his watch and settled down. Twilight made things difficult to see. One more check of the watch. Five minutes to nine, now four, three, two, one......BAM! BOOM!...... Two explosions on the other side of the camp, heavy equipment, supplies obliterated. Soldiers went running over to the site about a half a mile away, save one to guard the stockade. MacLeod held his breath. Where was the third explosion? Something was not right. He had no choice; he had to move as this was his only chance. 

Without making a sound, he silently stepped in behind the guard, garroted his neck, and let the man slip to the ground. He took the rifle butt and easily knocked the lock off the gate that held the men in. Quickly opening the door, he let himself in, standing before five hundred half-starved men in total shock. He motioned them to be quiet as he undid the locks and chains. Amazingly, not one made a sound and within ten minutes, all stole out of the compound and fled east into the jungle. They knew they had to find their way home or toward Thailand and the refugee camps. Duncan dragged the dead soldier into the stockade and closed the doors. Now frantic, Mac didn't see Fox anywhere and would have to look for him. He ran towards the other end of the compound and then back. He carefully slipped into one of the barracks for a quick look. He almost fell down the stairs when he heard, "Hello, MacLeod, what are you doing here?" 

"Jesus, what the hell are you doing....there...." 

Duncan had to look twice. He could barely make out the image of a man. All he saw was a little heap of rags and mud with something of a face that looked up at him. 

"Oh....Fox, is that you? Christ." 

"Yeah, so what are you doing here, MacLeod?" 

"Come to get you, I'm not here on holiday. Oh Christ, look at you. Can you stand?" 

"Yeah." 

"Well, come on. We've not much time." 

"Oh, but I can't go with you. I must stay here." 

"There's no room for discussion about this; let's go, _now!_ " 

Sporadic gunfire echoed a short distance away. "I have to wait for them to come back. I'll be no good to you anyway. You go. Please." 

"You're not making any sense." Mac leaned down to grab Fox by the arm but Fox was stronger than he looked and slipped by MacLeod's grasp. He rolled and tore up the stairs and into the barracks tearing things apart. Mac followed him in, amazed. 

"So help me, MacLeod, go or I will take your head!" Fox spat out while he violently went from one bunk to the next, ripping up mattresses and throwing belongings around. Mac advanced, intending to take him physically out of the building when Fox suddenly turned around, panting, all energy spent. Before Mac could utter a single sound.... BOOM! The third explosion rattled the very earth and the building trembled and collasped over sideways. Mac pulled himself out of the rubble, covered with his own blood. When he could get his bearings, he called for Fox. Within seconds, debris from the explosion began to rain down, boards in flames, a chair, machinery parts, and worse. "FOX!" 

Mac crawled down what used to be the roof and saw Fox sticking half out of the building, apparently dead with a large piece of splintered wood between his ribs. He pulled him out and threw him over his shoulder, thinking that at least now, "The bastard won't argue with me." 

He moved as quickly as he could through the flaming pieces. He stopped short as the better part of a large truck fell screaming from the sky a few feet in front of him. He continued on, pausing only a second to catch his breath. Soon and hopefully, U Than would meet him next to the truck. Gunshots became louder and MacLeod thought this was not a good sign. His heart sank. Just up the path, the truck was awash in flames and the driver dead. U Than was nowhere to be seen nor any of the others who came with him. Instinct took over and MacLeod ran east into the jungle and for cover. Every soldier in Burma would decend upon the region. There was nothing else he could do. 

The brush became denser and denser and MacLeod needed to put down his burden. The road was far enough behind though the occasional shot rang out in stuccato bursts. The night had come down and it was totally of such a darkness that Mac could not see anything before him. The canopy blocked out any hint of starlight. The noise of the evening was deafening and Mac certainly knew he was not alone. He laid Fox down and thought it would be best to leave him as he was until light. He had enough to contend with for the time being. A few minutes here and there of sleep was all he would get. The morning came sooner than he expected. First it was dark and then light, no gray in between time. He looked at the dead Fox, covered in mud and blood. He face was also smeared with the yellow _thanaka,_ used mostly by women and children as a sunscreen. The soldiers found that effeminate and Fox became the butt of many jokes but laughed with them, not understanding but fully knowing it was at his expense. 

Now MacLeod reached down and into Fox's body to find the wood, beyond the blackened and dried blood. Carrying Fox had worked the splinter deep into his side. Fox lay still for a half an hour more while MacLeod slept. Suddenly, he came back to life with a gagging sound and wretched. MacLeod woke and stood while Fox writhe on the ground. Obviously something was not right. Mac asked, "What's the matter with you?" 

"Go away, or better yet, take my head. Let me die." Fox crawled a few feet further away in an attempt to gain a bit more privacy and wretched once more. 

"What happened, Fox?" 

Fox turned and looked back at MacLeod standing over him. He presented his left forearm and said, "This. This is what happened." Mac could see nothing but he knew. 

"Why, how?" 

"They did this to me. They held me down. In my whole life, I have never been into this, _never!_ " He began to shake with chills even though the air temperature was already approaching 90 degrees. 

"Jesus, why should I be like this? I should well, whole again." 

Mac bent down and lifted Fox to a sitting position. "I know, but I have seen this a couple of times before in immortals. The drug seems to take its own time to break down. You'll get over this, sooner than an ordinary mortal. You just have to hang in there." 

"Easier said, Mac." 

"Our plans are gone, Fox. Something went wrong. We're going to have to improvise and get ourselves out of here." 

"What happened?" 

"I don't know for sure. You remember U Than?" 

Fox nodded. "Yeah." 

"He was our contact. The whole place blew up and he's gone. Probably dead." 

Duncan looked around trying to size up the location. They had only traveled about a mile away from the compound and were still in great danger of being found. Patrols would be in the area looking for the escapees and Mac shuddered to think of what would happen if the soldiers found two Westerners. Furthermore, the dense vegetation was home to many unfriendly animals. Mac spied a large python in the trees, increasing his motivation. 

"Come on, boy. We got to go. Up, up." He struggled to get Fox on his feet. "We got to get to Hua Hin in three days or we'll miss the plane to Bangkok." 

"Wait, how far do we have to go?" 

"You don't want to know." 

"The hell I do." 

"All we have to do is get to the Thai border, then the rest will be easy." 

"Keep telling me that." 

* * *

_Paris_

Amanda's timing was perfect. She looked every inch an American tourist hell bent on reorganizing her plans. Long ago, she had totally mastered the art of turning a Parisian concierge into a spittering mass of confusion, just a little hobby of hers. In broken French, she was loud enough to attract the attention of Gannon, lately arrived back in town, who was standing across the lobby of his hotel. He didn't need her immortal presence to tell him she was in the building. 

"Might I be of assistance, Mademoiselle?" 

Amanda smiled. "Absolutely, monsieur." 

Each one oozed as much charm as they each could command and quickly Gannon changed his plans for the day. He found himself making quick tourist jumps to the usual places, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame. Amanda was enchanting, pretending to be a little ditzy but not over doing it. She also developed the merest hint of a Southern accent which drove Gannon wild. She, in turn, found him a total gentleman, gracious and informative. The only thing she didn't care for was the bodyguard who followed them at a distance everywhere they went. 

Later, they had dinner at a small intimate place with a view of the Seine; afterwards, a quiet walk along the quay. Strolling past Duncan's darkened barge, Amanda slyly wondered aloud what it would be like to live on a boat. Gannon chuckled and said it was a life that only a gypsy would love. "I wouldn't care for it," he said. "I like to be grounded where I know what is what." 

"Wouldn't it be fun to be so free?" 

"No, that is not fun. That is only anxiety disguised as fun." 

Amanda laughed. "I guess you run your company pretty tightly." 

"That I do. I know every detail. I know my people. Who is useful and who is not. Who I can trust and who I can't." 

"Do you trust me?" asked Amanda coyly. 

"Ah, you're teasing me, now." 

"Sorry, I am looking to get to know you." 

"Well, what you see is what you get." 

"Somehow, I think there is more here than meets the eye." 

"I look at you and feel the same way, Amanda. This should be interesting." 

"Very interesting, Jonathan." 

At the end of the evening, Gannon dropped her off in front of her hotel room door, kissed her hand, and bid her good night with a promise that he would see her tomorrow. Within a few minutes, she was once more out a side door and on her way to meet Julia and Joe. 

"Well?" asked Julia. 

"Gosh, I had a great time." 

"Gosh?" asked Joe. 

"What did you learn about him?" demanded Julia. 

"He's a great guy. He's warm and funny and gracious," explained Amanda. 

"I think we're in trouble here," said Joe. 

"Amanda, this is not what we were looking for, a perfect dinner companion." 

"Well, what would like me to do, make something up? He's a stickler for details, likes to know what's going on around him." 

"Well, he is CEO of several big companies, that stands to reason," said Julia. 

"I guess you could say he's not very trusting, moves around with a body guard attached to him... I guess you could say he's a bit insecure." 

Julia pondered that bit of information. " That could be useful." 

"I don't know how this could be the same guy," said Amanda. 

"Listen, Amanda," said Joe seriously, "this guy would take your head in a heartbeat. _Don't_ forget that, not for one second." 

The next afternoon, Amanda spent some time shopping at some different stores with Gannon and once again had a pleasant time. They went up to his office at the hotel while he took care of some business before continuing on. She saw how he treated his employees with respect and Amanda liked that knowing all too well what it was like to be a servant. "It is going to be a long time," she thought, "before I can find anything on him." She was right. She would have to see him in all kinds of situations before he would reveal that weakness that Julia was looking for. In the meantime, Joe was desparately looking for any trace of Methos. He checked with the police in a round about way and moved once again through the neighbor of the unfortunate Dr. Gray. There was no sign of Methos though by now, the police had found the remains of the body and had complicated the search. There was no word of Duncan or the Watcher U Than. Joe could barely contain his frustration. 

* * *

_Pont l'Abbe, Finistere, Brittany_

The day was drawing to a close when the train pulled into the station. By now Methos had missed his last opportunity to take his dose of methadone and it was beginning to show. He made a mistake by getting off the train at one stop and should have continued to a little further up the line, but no matter. He would get another cab to take him to Lanveneal where he could find the house of Antonia. He moved with great difficulty as he got into the cab and the driver thought that he might be drunk. Methos tried very hard to remember the French he needed but kept mispronouncing the words. A dozen languages seem to flood his brain at once. 

Finally, the trip ended at the small village and that was as far as the driver would take him. Most of the people were gone for the day and houses and shops were shut up tight. An approaching storm made it darker than it would have been. Methos turned up his collar and limped up the road toward the place where the woman would give him shelter. 

The rain had begun to fall lightly and Methos thought he might save some time by cutting through the field and woods. The rough going caused him to become breathless as he trudged along wondering if he would make it. He chanced upon a fallen branch, which he picked up to aid in supporting him. Each painful step drew him closer to Antonia's house. Luck was with him because he wasn't really sure if he was going in the right direction. The wind began to rip across the open spaces and now the rain began in earnest. Only his great desire, not to die along the edge of the road, kept him onward and finally he saw Antonia's little house. One more field to cross and he would be at her front door; now it was the only thing in the world left to strive for. 

He knocked on the door. He knocked again. He called out her name against the wind. A dog barked in the distance but there was no answer from within. "Damn!" he cried out. "Damn!" Nothing was more important to him at this moment than his dignity. What a stupid and inane situation! He saw himself dying on the doorstep. After all this time, to wind up like a beggar on a doorstep. "Damn!" he yelled out again and slumped down against the jamb to get what shelter he could. 

He remembered Christian lessons about forgiveness and thought that if there was a hell he might avoid it by forgiving his enemies with his dying breath. But somehow he felt that he had been outsmarted by the smarmy Jonathan Gannon and wished only bad things upon him and all that he touched. His mind wandered a bit as he asked for the forgiveness for himself that he thought he deeply needed. His mind drifted to all the old and ancient ways and thought of the standing stone behind the house. He tried as hard as he could to get up. He would make his way out to the back. At least, here was an element as old as he was and he could take some comfort in that, and one last thing; it was Holy Ground. That, at least, was something. 

With the greatest effort he reached the head of the hill awash in a sea of spring anemones. "This is good," he thought. He sat down with his back against the stone and the wind and rain and he waited. 

  
Antonia returned late at night from a friend's house with a bit of wine in her and went straight to bed. Waking the next morning, though none too early, she commenced the day's chores with feeding her chickens out in the backyard. Something had caught her eye at the stone but she was preoccupied. Later on, she again went out in the back with some wash to hang up. The sky had cleared and the air and the sun shone brilliantly. The hill was all in color but for the piece of black that caught her eye again at the stone. She put the basket of clothes down and walked up the hill to investigate. 

_"Mon Dieu!"_ There was Methos, still dripping wet, folded up like an envelope and babbling deliriously. Immediately, Antonia pulled out a cell phone from her apron pocket and called the local physician who was also her good friend and confidant. Soon, Antonia was undressing him and drying him off. The doctor helped and was shooting him up with massive doses of antibiotics. 

Methos looked up and exclaimed, _"Aveta, salve. Toto, sentio in Kansas non iam adesse."_

"I don't know if this will do him any good, but I know it won't hurt," said the doctor. 

"Thank you, Jean Paul. He is really out to lunch, as they say." 

"You may expect that, I would think. It appears as if he is reacting like a normal human being. I'm going to hook him up to an IV to keep him hydrated. See that he doesn't thrash around too much and I'll be back in a couple of hours and see how he is doing." 

_"Ecce, Aveta,"_ he said quietly. _"Visne scire quod credam? Credo Elvis ipsum etiam vivere! Ha."_

_"Seda, te, Methos._ Go to sleep. Elvis is dead, _cheri._ " 

_"Hostes alienigeni me abduxerunt."_

"No you weren't. There are no aliens here or anyplace else." 

"Okay." 

Three days later, Methos could hear voices whispering in another room but he couldn't quite make out what they were saying. The sound of it made him agitated and full of dread. He wasn't sure of where he was or what had happened. He just couldn't lie there without knowing if he were in any danger. He stood up but immediately fell to the floor with a loud thud and ripped out the IV. The doctor and Antonia came rushing in and placed Methos back into the bed. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he kept saying. It was then that Methos discovered that he was attached to a Foley catheter. 

"Aaaughh! What is this! O my God! The Spanish Inquisition!" 

"Methos, you must be feeling better. That's well but you can't be up just yet," said Antonia. "This is Jean Paul, a friend and a doctor. He knows what you are. Don't worry, he won't tell anyone." 

_"Enchantez,"_ said Methos angrily. "What have you done to me?" 

"I put a lot of fluids into you, Methos, and well, it all needs to come out. It also saves Antonia from changing your bed every hour or so. She had watched over you day and night as it is." 

"Okay, then. I don't need this anymore." 

Jean Paul thought it over a moment and then said, "Very well, perhaps we can discontinue this." 

"What are you going to do?" 

"Remove it, of course." 

"Oh, my God, oh, my God," he cried. 

Antonia sat down on the bed and held him tight. "Here, turn your face." She covered his eyes with her hand. 

"There, _cheri,_ it is all over. My word, what a big baby you are." 

"Monsieur," said Jean Paul, "I have heard all about what has been happening to you. Until you are able to go to this spring Antonia talked about, perhaps you might want to think about a stay in a hospital so we can keep a closer watch on you." 

Methos eyes widened. "No, no, out of the question. I can't take that chance." More than that, he saw Alexa in his mind, all hooked up and the thought frightened him. Alexa was made of sterner stuff than he, or so he thought. 

"Rest for now," said Antonia. "When I come back, we'll talk and I will have some nice broth for you. Call me if you need to get up." Methos was thoroughly humiliated but he was feeling much better. The desire for methadone had left and that in itself removed a great strain from his body. He slept a while longer. 

Antonia came back in as she said. She needed to get a few phone numbers as Julia was not staying at the same place, just to be on the safe side. Antonia had been unable to contact anyone. Methos, then in turn, related what had happened and why he showed up on Antonia's door or at least as much as he could recall. 

"We can decide what to do when we get a hold of your friends. Until then, you rest and get better." 

Methos enjoyed the pampering and the food became more solid and more delicious but he wondered how much better he would get. The thought certainly tempered his mood. He thought a good quickening might help him out but then again, nobody would stand still for that and he was in no condition to fight anyone, anyway. 

* * *

_Burma –_

They moved slowly and carefully through the walls of vine. Duncan frequently had to stop and chop through with the machete. Fox did the best he could but their progress was little. All the while, Fox wondered how and why Duncan found him but he was too ill to comment at the moment. He wondered where Than had gone but getting one foot in front of the other was enough for now. 

The heat was unbearable, and breathing, harder. Mac exhausted himself swinging the machete and then supporting Fox through what he just cleared. The sticky vegetation often left an irritating residue on the skin and the smell of it all in the high humidity left one with a headache, nausea, or both. The terrain leveled off into a plain and they waded through swampy grasses waist high. Duncan wanted to get through this open space as soon as possible. The depth became deeper as they pushed their way in. A channel of clear water, thirty or forty feet wide, opened up and they had to paddle themselves across. MacLeod figured that they had finally come to the Tenesserim River and was happy about the progress they had made. 

They swam about halfway across when Mac noticed the sound of a small engine sputtering in the distance. He knew at once that a boat was making its way down the river and he needed to get to the other side in a matter of a few seconds. He struggled with Fox who was plagued with uncontrollable spasms and he struggled with his backpack, still heavy with supplies. Closer the little boat chugged toward them, filled with three soldiers looking for escapees, their rifles pointed menacingly at the grasses on each side of the channel. MacLeod could not imagine why they had not yet been seen. Soon he knew. 

The soldiers' attention had been drawn to an extremely large crocodile near the eastern bank. Mac cleared the channel and he pushed up, hidden among the grasses. Fox couldn't hold himself still but fully understood what was going on. Mac came around behind him and reached for a knife attached to his belt. He whispered "Sorry" into Fox's ear and Fox replied, "Do it." He wrapped one hand over Fox's mouth and plunged the knife where it would work the most quickly. A small shudder and Fox was quiet. 

Mac dared not remove the knife lest a flow of blood attract the crocodile. The soldier had taken a shot at the animal and it submerged itself reappearing within a few feet of Duncan and Fox. A few more shots ripped the water within inches of Duncan. He took a deep breath and pulled Fox and himself below the water line occupying the same space as the great reptile. The animal's tail slithered in front of Duncan's nose as the boat slowed down, floating past. Finally the animal decided not to take on the soldiers, allowed itself to find the middle of the channel in deeper water and swam in the opposite direction undetected from above. Duncan wished the animal Godspeed for it had saved them. Meanwhile, the tiny makeshift craft drifted on in a maddening slow motion. Finally, he heard the motor rev up, a few more seconds and he broke the surface for air. 

Now he dragged Fox through the grasses on the other side until he had a few inches of firm ground underneath him. He withdrew the knife carefully and within a few minutes Fox gagged and sputtered his way back to life. "I think this makes three, Mac." 

"Three?" 

"Three times you've done me in, old boy." 

"No, you can't count the second. You had a house fall on you." 

"Then you must have the ruby slippers. Click them and get us out of here." 

"I'd wear them, too, if I could do that." 

Leeches were a constant problem and they had to stop to get them off only to find themselves on the menu again in a short while. At least they saw or heard no one. No one in their right mind would be where they were. As the afternoon drew on, the withdrawl symptoms Fox experienced grew more pronounced. All Mac could do was to encourage Fox on but he needed encouragement himself. How did he find himself in this God forsaken place? He mused about term "God forsaken" and thought no where in the world was it more applicable. 

After a few more miles they rested at the foothills of the Bilauktaung Range. Mac thought it would be a good idea to spend the night there before tackling the mountains the next day. Considering everything, they had done well. Fox found a niche away from Mac to lay down. He felt great embarrassment about his condition and would rather not have Mac even look at him. His fever raged and his body ached just from trying to vomit on an empty stomach. He shook and his skin took on the goose bump trademark typical of heroin withdrawal. Duncan left a bottle of water next to him and retreated to a somewhat higher elevation to keep a lookout. He could hear the soft groans a short distance away as Fox wrestled with his agonies. Finally, Mac couldn't stand the sound anymore and sat down next to Fox and held on. Fox squeezed Mac's arms tightly as his legs kicked uncontrollably. "I'm sorry," Fox said. "I'm so sorry. You didn't know what you were getting into." 

"Neither did you. It will be okay. Trust me." 

Eventually, Mac left Fox's side and drifted in and out of sleep, trying to keep up his vigil. At one point he woke abruptly. Fox had been on his hands and knees hunch down on the ground and Mac became aware that Fox was speaking, no, reciting or chanting. He listened closer. 

_"Spiritus Sancte Deus, miserere nobis  
"Sancta Trinitas, unas, Deus, miserere nobis."_

MacLeod recognized it as the Litany of the Saints, the oldest of all the litanies. 

_"Santa Maria, ora pro nobis,  
"Sancta Dei Genetrix...." _

"Ora pro nobis," Mac chimed in. 

Very much surprised, Fox turned his head and looked at Duncan for a moment and then continued. Mac supplied the responses for the rest of the very long prayer. 

"I remembered," said Fox very quietly. "When I used to say that, it put me in a trance, take me out of myself. It would help a lot. A long time ago when I went to the monastery." 

* * *

_Flashback – Saxony, 1315_

Nicklaus, as Fox had been known then, had come to the monastery because their had been nothing better he could do at the time. He wanted a safe place. Eventually, he took Holy Orders. Another Ice Age descended upon northern Europe along with plague and famine. The whole world, or what seemed like the whole world, was cast into chaos. Everyone was dying and everyone was looking for someone to blame. First, it was the Jews and then it was the mentally disabled, and then it was anyone who was different in the slightest way. When the establishment ran out of excuses, they turned their confusion upon themselves, punishing their own sinfulness, the cause of God's great displeasure. Nicklaus, though thin as a skeleton, did not die, nor did he get sick. He had convinced himself that by doing penance, he could deliver the world from its misery. 

First, it was days of severe fasting, then followed by the ice cold water in the ice cold chapel and flagellation on his knees at the hands of enthusiastic priests hoping that Nicklaus could end the plague. Reciting the litany over and over would put him in another world. _"Miserere."_ At first, he believed with all his heart that he might be responsible for the universal suffering and that which he allowed to have happen to him would fix everything. After all, he thought, he had caused great suffering in his time. When nothing seemed to change, he left the monastery to take his chances with the rest of the world. 

* * *

_The Present –_

"So you are a priest?" asked Duncan. 

"No, I was relieved of my vows the next time I died, but as you know, it is said that the sacrament leaves an eternal mark on the soul." 

"So I have been told, my friend." 

"MacLeod, why are you doing this?" 

"Doing what?" 

"Helping me, going through all this. You don't even know me." 

"Well, the way I look at it, I have two friends, an old one and a new one and both need my help. I do what I can." 

"Extraordinary." 

"No way, it's just the right thing to do." 

"The old friend, Methos?" 

"Methos says you know where he was born. He must go back to that place. Has something to do with drinking the water." 

"Of course, the falls. Illyrium, You know? Croatia? I know the very place because my own mother had said this is where I had come from. She said I was the gift of the gods. It was Holy Ground as well. I just never made the connection because I figured he knew and that it was something else that was making him ill." 

"You know this? You know about the water and the exact the place where you were born?" 

"Yeah, my mother said children like me were special and had a special place and that I should return to it every now and then." 

"Your mother knew?" 

"Mac, this was a very long time ago. People accepted phenomenon like immortality as easily as the changing of the seasons or birth in the springtime. It was all one and the same. It wasn't until organized state religion, like the Akkadians or Hittites, came along that nature became divided with good and evil personae. So much was hidden away afterwards" 

"When was the last time you went back?" asked Duncan. 

"Well, the last time I was there was right at the end of World War II. I needed to go. It's a place of refuge for me. Methos doesn't know this? I thought every immortal knew they needed to return to the place where they were born, eventually." 

"I didn't. This information must have been lost down through time. And, on top of all of that, he just can't plain remember." 

Fox said enigmatically, "I see." 

"How is it that you can remember?" 

"I really can't say but I do, quite well. What you call the Dark Ages, now that is sort of a fuzzy time." 

"And what I find extraordinary is that you remember the language. Didn't it change even from Methos' time to yours? 

"Well, yes, somewhat, but this area was very stable with pretty much the same people at least until the Romans came." 

"One day soon," said Duncan, "you'll have to tell me more." 

"Sure thing," Fox said wistfully, not feeling sure he would live long enough. 

Conversation over, Fox seemed to settle down and then sleep with even breath. Duncan listened to the sounds of the night and could hear small rustlings now and again and had no idea what could be out there. Once or twice there was the scream of a small animal caught in the jaws of a larger one and Mac felt uncomfortably close to being able to identify with that unfortunate creature. He looked up at the night sky and saw a few stars in between the palm fronds. The night is so dark in the tropics. Slowly, almost against his will, he drifted off. 

The morning came suddenly like it always did in this part of the world. Macaques played in the canopy above and woke them with their irreverent noise. Fox sat up and looked around. He found the water bottle Duncan had left the night before and drank. A good deal of the mud he had been living with had washed off and he almost looked like a person again. He could even manage a smile. 

"This is a good sign," said Mac. 

"I think it might be over." 

"Yeah, well, we'll see." 

The physical signs of addiction disappeared, at least twice as fast as they would have gone in an ordinary mortal. Duncan knew, however, that the psychological craving would remain for a time, could be weeks, and Fox would come to know of what stuff he was really made. 

Duncan poured the contents of his backpack on the ground and sorted out the supplies. A couple small bottles of water, a dozen packets of MREs, compass, a map, a trench lighter, a rope. Not much to work with but it was all they had. Up till now, Fox had kept his thoughts to himself and let Duncan take the lead in getting them out of there. He was too sick to care, but now it seemed to Fox that they were doing things the hard way, blazing their own trails and he wanted to know why. 

"We have several things working against us," Duncan explained. "First, there is the military who rule the country. In the best of times they would not understand us being out here. Now they are highly annoyed with the fact that they are down one airstrip and compound, not to mention that all their 'help' took off. Then there are the other insurgent rebel groups fighting one another. This area is also a main conduit for drug traffic into Thailand and you know how touchy people in that business can be. Then there are the 'dacoits', highwaymen, you know, independent businessmen of sorts. I've been trying to parallel a road but that map isn't any good. It's inaccurate and the roads are just unsafe anyway. My best solution is to keep our heads low and head east, we'll run into Thailand sooner or later." 

"So how screwed are we?" 

"Fairly well." Duncan tossed Fox an MRE. Fox opened it and tried to eat a little bit of what was euphemistically called food. 

Duncan felt it was time to do something about that chain around Fox's neck. "That chain, you want it to come off?" 

"Please," said Fox quietly. 

Mac pulled out his Swiss Army knife and chose a tool for just such a purpose but it was too large for the small lock. He then tried a pair of wire cutters on the knife but the links proved too thick. 

"Well, there it is. Damn." Fox pulled at the lock. 

"Hang on, here. Let's take a look." Mac examined the chain more closely. "I don't think I can get it off your neck but look here, this link. It's a little thin and I just....think....I can....work it....off." He weedled the wire cutters back and forth until the weak spot in the base metal gave, leaving the length around Fox's neck and a few links to dangle down. 

Duncan was happy with the meager results. "We'll take care of the rest later." He noticed Fox was not as enthusiastic. "Well, at least you don't have to carry the whole chain around," he said winding it up and stuffing it into the backpack. 

"Yes, of course. Thank you." 

"You're welcome." 

Fox gave an impatient sigh. "Well, it's just that it's not the first time I've had to wear a collar." 

"You want to talk about it?" 

"Nah, I've had this amazing penchant for getting into these bizarre situations and this last fling with slavery just blew me away. Ever been a slave, Mac?" 

"No, that's something I managed to avoid." 

"Four times, Mac, four times. It's not supposed to be this way anymore." 

Duncan looked at Fox and decided he couldn't have been as old as Joe had suggested. Fox seemed too idealistic or naïve. Methos certainly wouldn't have been surprised if he had found himself in Fox's situation. He reckoned a certain amount of cynicism came with being unfathomablely old. 

"Let's go," said Mac. "There's a lot of ground we need to cover." Mac sympathetically patted Fox on the shoulder. 

The two immortals walked into the foothills and then into the mountains themselves. They had found an old footpath, half-overgrown and the way had become a bit easier. They were making decent progress and Mac was feeling optimistic. He did feel the need for increased vigilance, however, and held the rifle at the ready and was keenly observant, looking for signs of recent intrusion. Descending in front of them was a crossroads of sorts, a trail more traveled and Mac decided to go around it and his judgement proved to be correct. If they had stayed as they were, they would have given themselves away. 

Soon, they found the trail again. The terrain had become more vertical and the path only a slippery trace. Higher and higher they climbed with only enough space to place one foot down at a time. Below them, the valley; above, a sheer rock wall. Fox was not fond of heights but he kept it to himself. He saw how Mac knew his business and he did not want to appear less of a man by whining about it. Inching along, the trail eventually became more forgiving for a while and then again returned to a place where only mountain goats would feel comfortable. They spent most of the day this way and didn't get very far. The night was spent in a little crevice on the side of a mountain. A light rain made them not only wet, but cold in that altitude. Fox could feel the desire for a fix coming on and did everything he could to keep Mac from knowing. They shared a very small space and it was silly of Fox to think that Mac would not notice. 

From their perch, the two immortals looked out on a peaceful landscape. Few lights were visible in the far distance near the horizon. Fox kept kneading a rock nervously between two hands trying to control his anxiety. The pace of his breathing increased and then resided. With only inches between them, Duncan finally spoke. 

"Do you think there is any thing I can do for you?" 

"Well, yeah, now that you ask," Fox hinting for what he would not get. He waited for Duncan's response, obviously anticipating a rebuke. 

"Sorry, Fox. I can't help you there." 

"I'm the one who's sorry." 

"It'll be okay." 

"No, I deserve this. You get what you asked for and brother, I asked for it." 

"You don't _deserve_ this." 

"What I did to him, what I did to others along the way..." 

"I haven't known you long, but what I do know seems to tell me that you are a good person and I can't believe you haven't tried to balance the wrong with what you've done with good." 

"Interesting, Mac, but maybe it's just not enough." 

* * *

_Flashback – North of the Dalmatian Coast, 2466 BC_

The moon made black, white and gray patterns among the trees and undergrowth. Nagazwe's body lay face down on a flat rock as just a trickle of ice cold water flowed around him. He had been tossed from a great height and left for dead. Suddenly, an involuntary spasm and a rush of air to his lungs jerked him violently back to life. It was several seconds before he caught his breath. The light in the forest made him disoriented and he could not tell up from down. He stumbled and slipped trying to stand up and then get some bearing. His body made him keenly aware that he was still alive for it seemed every part of him ached. He reached for the place where the arrow had been and could not find the wound. He should be dead. Then he remembered his brother smiling. 

Nagazwe spent the rest of the night climbing the rocks out of the chasm and then the better part of the next day walking back to his village. He saw from a distance that a great celebration was in progress and it seemed no one missed his presence. In the center of it all was Nagazwe's brother thoroughly enjoying himself, surrounded by the best warriors. 

Slowly, the noise and fun echoed away as Nagazwe strode into the center of activity. A huge silence descended. Everyone knew he supposedly had died. His brother, Prio, had described Nagazwe as a coward who had run from the battle, not doing what he was supposed to do, was shot in the back, and was carried off by the enemy as a trophy. The warriors who had been at the battle knew the truth but dared not contradict Nagazwe's brother who was now head of the clan. In fact, most of the village knew what had really happened but they also kept quiet. Prio's thought was that if he said the lie enough, it would be eventually accepted as fact. 

"Where is my father?" Nagazwe wanted to know. 

"My father," said Prio, _my father,_ is dead. Passed in his sleep. I am chieftain now." 

Nagazwe looked around him and saw the fear on every face. His confusion grew into a cold hatred. 

"In his _sleep._ Of course." 

"Prio," he yelled, "is a liar and a thief and a murderer who stole the right to lead." 

Prio bounded up to his brother and swung his ax meaning to end Nagazwe once and for all. Nagazwe ducked and grabbed an ax from a nearby warrior, turned and sent the stone blade home into Prio. So sudden was the stroke that a gasp went up from the crowd. Nagazwe looked down on the body and felt nothing. Then, he stood ready to take on all comers but no one dared, especially the warriors who knew he was the one who came back from the dead. Perhaps, they thought, this would be a good thing for the clan but as it turned out, it was not. 

Nagazwe ordered the celebration to continue. He feasted and then, when he had enough, he grabbed Prio's woman by the nape of her neck and dragged her into Prio's house. As time went on, Nagazwe's village farmed less and raided more. He was absolutely ruthless with his enemies and almost the same with his own people. Finally, after but a few years of this, the people tired, tied him up and cast him adrift in a small boat far out in the Adriatic. It would be many years before Nagazwe returned home, a different person with a different name. 

* * *

_The Present – Burma_

"Who's to say, Fox, who's to say. We just do the best we can. You, me, most everybody." Fox absent-mindedly nodded in agreement, lost in his own thoughts, and continued to knead the stone. Duncan hoped that Fox would fall asleep. 

The next day went the same way and Duncan knew that they would not make it to Hua Hin to catch their plane. The thought of losing so much time, time that he didn't know Methos had, made him edgy. He caught himself barking orders at Fox and then apologizing. The place was getting to him. It was more demanding and cruel than he anticipated, the heat of the day, the rain, the leeches, the mud, not to mention the soldiers, rebels, and robbers constantly watched for. Fox thought he had grown sullen but Mac just needed to put all his energy into concentrating on what he was doing. Talk between them happened only when it was necessary. 

Monsoon rain began to fall as they reached a heavily overgrown patch. They took turns at hacking at the vegetation. MacLeod motioned for Fox to stop. They listened. A low rumble took the air and within a moment, a huge wall of water and mud roared down the side of hill. The avalanche traveled at a speed much too fast for Mac and Fox to get out of the way and this great thing swept the two men down into the valley below. Whole trees, rocks, and anything else in its path went with it. 

Down the pair went before they knew what had happened. Fox was thrown off to the side and his chain caught on a tree branch. He hung there struggling for several seconds before he could free himself. Just as quickly, the water stopped coming. Fox released his grip from the branch and fell another twenty feet down and tumbled a ways before he stopped. He was bruised and bloodied but in one piece. He looked up at the swath of rubble from the bottom of the mountain, swallowed by the jungle. All around him lay broken trees, vine, mud, and confusion. At his feet lay half of the machete and nowhere was Duncan to be seen. There was no path, no sun to guide him east, no provisions, nothing save the presence of death standing at his arm. Except for the falling rain, it seemed unbelievably still and quiet now. 

"MacLeod.... MACLEOD!" The reverberation shook a flock of birds from the trees. "That was stupid," he said to himself. If anyone were in the area, they would have heard him well. 

* * *

_Brittany –_

"Don't do anything to startle or upset him," admonished Antonia. He is much improved since I found him but the ordeal weakened him greatly. He can no longer walk without assistance." T 

The faces of Julia and Joe showed great alarm. 

"For the love of God," said Antonia, "you will push him over the edge if you look like that. Smile, please. Be pleasant." 

The three walked in and immediately Julia's eyes filled with tears. She sat down on the bed and placing her arms around him, sobbed loudly. 

"Julia, I'm not dead yet." She continued to cry. Julia could not look at him. 

"We're sorry, man," said Joe. 

"It's okay. I'm okay," Methos assured them. "I have made my peace." 

"Don't say that, you big jerk," Julia shot back. 

Methos hated being the center of this kind of attention. One more time his independence was being stripped away but now he was powerless to change anything. There were no more side exits or tricks. His wit, guile, and intelligence were useless. He had fought the idea of his demise but now slowly had to reconcile and relinquish his position. Gradually, reality tightened its grip. 

"This is not my choice; there is nothing I can do. No more to be done." 

Joe sat down in a chair next to bed. "After all the time you had spent with.... Dr. Gray, you still don't have a clue." 

Methos sighed heavily. "There are now things I know that I hadn't been able to think about in a long time, my family, my mother. I still don't know where that was. Once I had been separated from them, I moved with a nomadic tribe, many places, and I don't think I ever returned home, at least not to my knowledge. I take it that there is still no word from MacLeod." 

Joe shook his head. 

"It's all because of me," said Methos. "MacLeod, Dr. Gray, Fox." 

"You stop that crap right now, you hear me?" Joe said. "Nothing has been written in stone, so stop writing your epitaph. We don't know yet." 

"Have you been bothered by Gannon?" asked Methos. 

"No," said Julia, "but Amanda is here and she has been trying to find out things we can use against him." 

"Amanda, huh? When did she get here?" 

"A few days ago. She's been seeing Gannon socially and telling us about him," volunteered Julia. 

"She is playing a far too dangerous game," Methos commented. "Please, tell her to back off. No one else on my account." 

"Well, you know how she can be," said Joe. 

They would not tell Methos that Amanda was having a jolly good time with his mortal enemy. Amanda couldn't see the rat lurking inside the Mickey Mouse costume. 

"We are not giving up, man, just remember that. Something will come along and it'll be okay. You'll see. I'm never wrong," said Joe. 

"Never?" asked Methos. 

"Nope, you know that," said Joe smiling. "Look, we're going now. You rest up. I just thought of something I want to check out. Looks like you're being taken care of pretty well. We're coming back soon." Methos held out his hand for Joe to shake and Methos grasped it with both hands. 

He smiled and said, "Thanks for everything, Joe." 

Joe's eyes started to mist up. "Yeah." 

Julia bid Methos so long. Outside, she wanted to know what Joe had wanted to check out. Joe paced back and forth. 

"Joe, what are you on to?" asked Julia. 

"Come on, let's get going. I'll tell you on the way back." Julia pulled out of the drive and gunned the engine, making the tires squeal along the gravel path to the road. 

"Okay, so what going on?" 

"Before I saw you this morning, before the cops had been to Dr. Gray's office, I went there. The place was wide open. I knew something was wrong, so I carefully slipped in. I unfortunately found Dr. Gray, or what was left of him. Then I searched for Methos' files and tapes and I took them with me. They're at my place." 

"Why didn't you say anything to me before?" 

"I felt a little unethical." 

"Nice to know you have a conscience," said Julia, half kidding. "So what are you going to do?" 

"It looks to me like we don't have a lot of time left. We got to make some progress on our own. I'm going to listen to those tapes and see if can't find some clue." 

"But Methos said himself there was nothing more he could find out about the location." 

"Julia, I've been in this business a long time. I'm no slouch historian. I just may be able to pick up on something. Certainly worth a shot and maybe you'll hear something, too. If we don't, Methos will be the first immortal to die of old age." 

Julia contemplated Joe's words. Past visions of the old times she had shared with Methos came rushing back as they had repeatedly since seeing him again. A lonely nostalgia crept over her for all those lost and sometimes complex times. 

"Oh, Joe, you should have seen him then," Julia said with a sad smile. "He was magnificent. He could charm the money out of the purses of merchants and senators and they would thank him for it. He stood so tall and regal that it made no difference he didn't wear a toga, he commanded so much respect." She laughed, "He would be out all night whoring and then come to my room and we'd talk and gossip until dawn. He'd get sober and I'd get drunk but he'd still have these monumental hangovers the next day. He never watered down his wine, you know. Still, a little bit of a barbarian." 

"So you two were a hot item?" 

"Heavens, no. He didn't need me, at least that way, and I had made a promise to my husband, it's complicated, maybe one day, I'll tell you." 

"He sounds like he did alright, but he was a slave. How could he stand that, not to have his freedom?" 

"Joe, that's a twentieth century, no, actually a kind of late twentieth century point of view. Every age has had a somewhat different take of slavery. In ancient Rome, slavery was an institution and accepted like birth and death and taxes. Yeah, slaves wanted their freedom and if they got it, they would easily turn around and buy their own. A few of them lead charmed lives, had great power and influence. I knew of several men from noble families who sold themselves and wound up in high positions. Remember, doctors, architects, teachers, actors – those we think of as professionals – were often slaves. There were many layers and it was all extremely complicated. The majority of them lead miserable lives but nobody ever seriously thought of abolishing it. Duty had everything to do with it. Even the Church said that if God made you a slave, it was your duty to be a good one. Besides, Methos could have left whether we wanted him to or not. I think he was having too good a time." 

"So what happened?" 

"It was politics.... Politics and then the law. Methos thought he could be smarter and quicker but he had grown too influential, too public and then, someone wanted him out of the way. It was easy enough. Once things started to happen, it was as if I were gripping a handful of sand and watching it run out between my fingers. He thought I had betrayed him, sold him out. I know he suffered horribly. Everything they say about crucifixion is more than true. But there was nothing I could do, Joe, and then my family would have...." She paused a second. "I'll never forget that look on his face when they took him away." 

Joe squeezed her hand. "It was a long time ago, it doesn't matter anymore." 

"No, it still matters, two years or two thousand. I can not let him die. I can't let him down, not again. I wish it were me and not him, damn it." 

"Julia, I wish I could say for sure that everything is going to turn out fine. We are going to try, oh, yes, but we are going to try. I've gotten used to having that S.O.B. around, but don't you ever tell him that." 

"You are a very sweet guy, Joe," said Julia giving him a quick peck on the cheek. 

"Yeah, well, don't let that get out either." 

The rest of the ride went quickly but not quickly enough to suit Joe. The steel gray skies made telling the time of day impossible. A cold rain began to fall as they passed through the city on their way to the Le Blues Bar. There was no parking near the establishment for a block. Julia told Joe she would join him shortly, wanting to take a quick trip over to the pharmacy across the street. 

Joe walked down the sidewalk and up to the front door, taking out his keys. It was still a little too early for anyone else to be there for work. He found that the door had been opened. "Oh, perfect," he thought to himself. 

He carefully worked his way inside and looked around. Nothing had been touched but he was still uneasy. 

Going around behind the bar, he bent down to find his favorite shot glass. When he stood back up, Gannon was sitting just on the other side. 

"Hiya, Dawson!" said Gannon. 

Joe gasped and barely hung on to his breath. "Christ in heaven, what the hell do you want?" 

Never one to avoid a chance for theatrics, Gannon smiled, pleased with his entrance. 

"I'd like to know where Mr. Pierson went to? I've rather lost him. Thought you could tell me." 

"No, I have no idea. He comes and goes." 

"Now, Mr. Dawson, I'm not buying that. Please, just help me out here and I'll leave you alone." 

"I think you heard me the first time." 

"I swear, it's all I can do keep from hurting you, Mr. Dawson. I'm usually a patient man, but not today." 

"Yeah, and I'm far from being a patient man and you'd better leave while you still can." Joe reached into his jacket pocket for a small Glock. As he did two armed men belonging to Gannon came in. Joe left the gun where it was for the moment. _Damn,_ thought Joe. 

At that moment, Gannon's attention was suspended as he felt the presence of another immortal. Joe knew the look. Within a moment, Amanda burst in the door. 

"Joe, I've got to tell you. You were right about...." 

"Go, run! Get out!" yelled Joe. Gannon swung and hit Joe solidly in the facing throwing Joe to the floor behind the bar. Amanda let out a little yelp and quickly turned but it was too late as Gannon's men blocked her way. Joe struggled to get up and Amanda went to help him. 

"You bastard!" she told Gannon. 

"So what did you find out, you little bitch?" Gannon spit. 

"Nothing that is any of your business. But I can see now that you certainly aren't the person I thought I knew. How dare you?" 

"How dare I what? Protect my own interests? I know what you are; I know who your friends are. I hate liars." 

"Then how do you account for the fact that your company uses slave labor and ignores it?" 

"That was never proven. It was all thrown out of court." 

"Technicalities do not make it any less of a lie." 

"Darling," said Gannon, "you can take your double standard, frame it and hang it on a wall for all I care. I just need to find Adam Pierson and Mr. Dawson can certainly tell me." 

"Damn you," said Joe, "I don't know where he is." 

"Okay, fine. Here's what we'll do." He went around and grabbed Joe by the shirt and brought him out into the back alley. A gun was held at his back and one at Amanda's head. 

"That's Black Talon in that gun, Amanda. It can take your head off," said Gannon. 

Joe thought his time was up and he held his breath. They stepped into a van and went around the block till they were some distance away from the bar. "I'll give you another chance to tell me where Adam Pierson is." 

"What is so important about Pierson?" Joe wanted to know. 

"His friend Ellery Fox is on the loose and might cause me further troubles. He'll probably try to contact Pierson. I just need to know what I can expect. I don't think that is too much too ask." 

"What do you know about Ellery Fox?" asked Joe. 

"All I was told is that he's not where he's suppose to be. He could be dead but he could be very much alive. He just has some information that I need." Fox was proof of the Burmese military's use of slavery and Gannon had every intention of killing Methos and Fox if he had half a chance. "Now, Joe, will you cooperate? I'm a reasonable man." 

"Okay,okay. He went to Jamaica. That's all I know." 

"Fine. That wasn't so hard. Now just to make a point...." 

Gannon held a small device with a button and pressed it. The Blues Bar imploded upon itself with a low rumble and all that remained was a pile of timber, dust, and smoke. 

"Oh, my God, you didn't have to do that!" exclaimed Amanda. 

"On the contrary, if I even think you are not telling me the truth.... Like I said, I need to make a point." 

They pulled away quickly. Julia came out of the pharmacy to see what had happened. She had just caught the face of Joe looking out of the window as he flew by. Joe was grateful that no one was in the building but his heart was broken knowing that the tapes and files of Methos had gone up in smoke with the bar. 

* * *

_Burma –_

Fox stood motionless at the very bottom of the sheer cliff. He could never have imagined himself so alone as he was at that moment. After what seemed to be an eternity, he stumbled along the rubble to where the path of the flood dissipated into the thick jungle. Looking for any sign of MacLeod, he began to panic. Turning over rocks and limbs, he worked his way frantically back toward the face of the mountain. Something, anything, some tiny sign to give him some bearing, a bit of fragmented hope but there was nothing save the broken piece of machete. He sat down on a limb crammed partially into the mud, wrapping his arms around himself and began to rock back and forth slightly, telling himself that this was not the time to lose it. 

"Keep it together, keep it together," he chanted over and over. He felt breathless as he rocked; the jungle closed in around him. "Keep it together!" A gut wrenching, gasping moan rose up from behind. 

"Aaugh!" Fox yelled in complete terror as he fell forward. Out of the mud, rose Duncan MacLeod. 

Fox turned and scrambled a few feet away before he realized what had happened. Fox yelled again. "Damn you! Damn you, MacLeod!" 

Duncan sputtered and coughed, trying to catch his breath. "What?" 

"You just about killed me." 

Duncan raised his hand. "Here, help me out of this." 

Fox got up and pulled and tugged Duncan out of the mire with great difficulty. Many of his bones had been broken and he was still in great pain. It was Duncan's turn to sit down. 

"Christ, how long was I gone?" 

"I don't know, half an hour, more or less." 

"This can't be all that's left," said Duncan spying the machete. "Say you've found the rest of our supplies." Even the knife had been ripped from his belt. 

"Nope." 

The two sat silent for a short while. Finally, Fox picked up the piece of blade and a broken limb, straight and strong. He sat down and began to whittle. Duncan watched. 

"You know," said Fox, "there is nothing better than a good stick." 

"Really." 

"A good stick." Fox continued to whittle one end into a point. "We don't have any weapons," said Fox as if he needed to explain the situation. Duncan, in a coat of thick mud, continued to watch. 

"I know," said Duncan. "I came to that realization." 

Soon, Fox had a sharp point at the end of the good stick. He plunged the blunt end into the mud and scoured the ground. 

"Here, it is," he said. "I thought I saw this before and look, here's another one." Fox bent down and picked up two good size rocks both about the size of a large sandwich. He brought them over near MacLeod and began to chip one against the other. "Not too bad," he said as he deftly flaked each piece. 

"Where did you learn that?" MacLeod wanted to know. 

"My father, brothers. I got so good at making points that that's about all they would let me do." 

"Who, who would let you?" 

"My tribe." 

"And this was in...." 

"Illyrium, like I said." 

"But what did you need stone points for, what about metal?" 

"Mac, there was no metal then, well, once in a blue moon, I saw a bit of copper, a bit of bronze, but I couldn't exactly run over to the hardware store and pick up some." 

"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?" 

"As best as I can figure it, I was born around 2500 BC, give or take a century. So how old are you?" 

"Four hundred and eight." 

Fox just chuckled as he worked. That kind of attitude sometimes got a little worn out with Duncan, especially when Methos chided him. 

"Well, Joe said you were pretty old but I just thought...well..." 

"You thought how can this joker have survived all this time, right?" 

"Well, perhaps I didn't have you pictured correctly." 

"Mac, I am out of practice, absolutely. I haven't taken a head since the Second World War and that was the only fight I had that century." He continued to knapp the stone. Soon, it became a blade, sharp as any steel. "I was good with a sword. As good as I needed to be but I love a good bow." 

"A bow?" 

"Yeah, a bow. Anyway, I was almost a thousand years old before I saw my first sword. Then, they weren't all that practical. The hilt was riveted to the blade and lots of times they would break off. Not a good thing. And, if you wanted to take a head, you did it right; you got an ax." Fox looked at his work. "Not too bad for this 'cherty' stuff. If I had some good flint, I could show you what I can really do." 

Duncan was impressed and wondered what else Fox might reveal. They spent some more time looking for any sign of supplies but there was nothing until Duncan remembered he slipped the trench lighter into a buttoned pocket on his camoflaged pants. A wonderful piece of luck, at least they might have a fire if they could find anything that was dry. The sun peaked out and suddenly the air turned to steam. They moved east once more. They crossed several streams and went up and down several more hills but no mountains. Finally, they rested in a very small clearing on higher ground. 

Suddenly, between them, ran a small troop of wild boar. Both men knew something had chased them that way. They each rolled off quickly and out of sight just as two Burmese soldiers trampled the earth chasing the animals. Just as they passed, Fox got up and told Duncan, "Them's my baby backs." With that, Fox took off right after them. Before Duncan could say a word, Fox was gone. 

_Geez, what's he trying to do, the idiot,_ he thought. Duncan ran after them but doubled back after forty-five minutes, hoping that Fox would have returned to his senses. Duncan was about to go after him again when Fox walked up the hill with a dead boar across his shoulders and threw it on the ground in front of Duncan. 

"Dinner is served. Well, almost." 

"What the hell were you thinking, Fox?" 

"I was thinking about the fact I haven't had any meat in weeks and I wasn't going to let those cockroaches get my dinner." 

"You could have been captured, killed." 

"Mom, is that you?" 

"Fox, come on, you're armed with a sharp stick and a sharp rock. They had M-16s." 

"You shouldn't be surprised what a little motivation can do." Fox bent down and began to gut the boar. 

"What happened to the soldiers? Where are they?" 

Fox looked up at Duncan coldly. Gone was the guileless demeanor. Taking two fingers, he painted two stripes of blood across his arm above his elbow. "They're dead." 

* * *

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapters 7 & 8   
Author's Notes 

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

12/16/2000 

* * *


	6. The Price of the Heart: Chapter 6

The Price of the Heart Chapter 6 by DeborahC

_The Price of the Heart_

By Deborah D. Charlow 

* * *

**_Chapter 6_**

_"Remember the Alamo, Joe."_

SLAM! A large wooden door reverberated with finality. Joe and Amanda were left to themselves in what appeared to be a storage room full of boxes and miscellaneous household items. They struggled to remove the blindfolds that had been placed across their eyes and they both wriggled free of the rope that held their hands tied loosely together in front of them. A formality was all it really was. Joe sat back and rested against the corner of a desk while Amanda immediately went for the door looking for its weakness. 

"So what made you finally figure out Gannon?" asked Joe. 

"I overheard him in his office tell one of his boys that he was going to get Adam Pierson and Ellery Fox if it was the last thing he ever did." 

"You overheard this?" 

"Yes, I'm surprised all of Paris didn't. He was screaming mad." She continued to look about the room for a way out. "I just turned and went the other way." 

"So we rode west out of Paris for about an hour. I wonder where we are?" 

Amanda turned and smiled. She stepped aside and moved a box allowing Joe to see a crest carved into a stone mantel. "I know exactly where we are." 

"Oh, well, do tell." 

"We are in the Chateau de Vilny. This is a nineteenth century addition to a very old building. We shouldn't have too much difficulty. I just need a little bit of time to work on that lock." 

Downstairs below in the kitchen, Gannon sat back with a newspaper while the cook fixed lunch. The day had turned into a sunny afternoon and everyone else was dismissed from the premises and soon the cook would go also. 

"Rene, you are such an artist." 

"Oui, monsieur." 

"Our _guests_ are in for a treat. They don't deserve you. _I_ don't deserve you." 

"Oui, monsieur." 

"Tomorrow, Rene, please, the _tournados_ with the _foie gras,_ truffles, and that spectacular Madeira sauce." 

"Very well, monsieur, but only if I can find the truffles." 

" _Absolutment,_ Rene." 

Gannon settled back for a wonderful lunch today and practically giggled with anticipation for tomorrow's dinner. Soon Rene would finish up and Gannon would go bring Joe and Amanda something to eat. He was not hard on people unless he thought it was necessary. He was having second thoughts about blowing up Joe's establishment, maybe a little too showy, over the top, as it were. Well, perhaps he wouldn't kill Joe after all and could help Joe rebuild once all this nasty business was over. He really wasn't such a bad guy once you got to know him, he thought. 

He planned on keeping the pair until he could locate Adam Pierson and if he was not in Jamaica like Joe had said, he would release them and they would probably go right to Pierson. He was not too far off in this calculation. Amanda was a different story. She was an immortal and had not been honest with him at all. That he took very personally. He was much harder on immortals. Still, he thought the pair none too bright. It had been so easy to take them, Joe so helpless and Amanda just a fragile thing. 

He took the tray of lunch down a long hall, a couple of turns, and up the back stairs. He placed the tray down on a table outside the door and unlocked it. Slowly, he entered. Joe was still sitting on the desk and Amanda stood near the mantel. Gannon pulled Methos' sword out from under his coat, detemined to be a little theatrical once more. 

"Do you recognize this?" Joe and Amanda just glanced at each other and angrily stared at Gannon. "This is a fine blade, a sturdy blade. No doubt it has seen lots of use." 

"Get to the point," demanded Joe. 

"Funny you should say that, Mr. Dawson. I have no doubt you are anxious about your friend, but then, so am I. Until I know where I can find him, the two of you will stay here." Gannon turned and stood behind Joe with the point of the blade close to Amanda. Without a second's hesitation, Joe took his cane and with both hands shoved it up and back landing it squarely on Gannon's nose. Just as fast, he pivoted around and holding the cane like a baseball bat soundly struck Gannon in the gut. When he doubled over, one last blow to the back of Gannon's head, put him on the floor and out cold. 

"Way to go, Joe!" said Amanda as she went through Gannon's pockets. She pulled out a wallet and took out money. "There's another sword here." 

"Take it," said Joe, "take everything he's got on him. She looked up at Joe and then stood over him with Methos' sword ready to take his head. 

"Hey, let's get out of here. Don't you think someone will notice a little indoor lightning and thunder?" 

"Yeah, you're right." 

They barreled out the door as fast as they could, Amanda ahead of Joe gauging the way in the darkened hall. 

"This way, no, this," she said as Joe struggled to keep up. 

"I thought you knew where you were." 

"I did, too. Maybe it's just.... I don't know. This all seems so different, now.... Come on!" 

"Let me guess, the last time you were here, there was a short emperor in power." 

"Well...." 

"That's just perfect." 

They twisted and turned down one corridor and over to the next. Small beams of light from under doorways gave them some idea on which way they should go until they carefully found a staircase. Down on to the lower level, they crept, hoping to go unnoticed. 

"Whoa, watch that cane, Joe." 

"Sorry." 

Finally they came upon the kitchen and startled Rene. With large smiles, they side-stepped their way to the kitchen door. Amanda grabbed a pair of croissants from a plate just as they left. Rene let out a sting of rabid French, insulted at the rude intrusion upon his domain. 

Outside, they found themselves at the rear of the chateau and ran through the kitchen garden and through a gate in the wall that surrounded it. Beyond was a large expanse of manicured lawn that they needed to cross before they could get to the road just on the other side. 

"Okay, let's go. It's the only way without going back into the chateau," said Joe. 

"I'm going to die. I'm going to die," Amanda repeated, two swords clanging together as they went through grass. 

"You're going to die? A relative term." 

About half way, Joe needed to catch his breath. "Wait, a second," he said. He turned and looked over his shoulder and there was Gannon emerging from the garden door. Without missing a beat, Joe pulled the gun out of his pocket, took aim, and fired, hitting Gannon in the chest. The force threw Gannon flat on his back. 

"Now I feel better." 

"Boy, is he going to be pissed," Amanda observed. 

"That's the idea. Come on." 

They kept going, all the while expecting a legion of Gannon's men to come down upon them. Finally, they reached the cover of some trees next to the road. There was Julia, pulling up and the two piled in and they took off. 

"Julia, you are an angel. How, where?" asked Joe. 

"I saw it all from the pharmacy and then I followed. I was going to wait until it got dark before I tried to get you out." 

"That was really weird. Gannon and the cook were the only ones there," said Amanda. 

"I think this was too easy." Joe said. Amanda looked out the rear view window as the chateau retreated from sight. "This is not de Vilny. Julia, where are we?" 

"We are just outside of Auxerre." 

"Damn, now I'm confused." 

Back at the chateau, Gannon suddenly returned with Rene standing over him. The surprise had been too much for the poor cook as Gannon snarled at him and Rene screamed and hid inside the kitchen. Now Gannon raised himself off the ground and he laughed to think that those two could have gotten away and gently chastised himself for being so easy. 

His laughter quickly turned to anger when he realized he was minus his wallet filled with credit cards and his passport. He ran inside and grabbed a phone to instruct his small army about where they might be able to intercept the thieves. He also noticed that not only was Methos' sword missing, but his own as well. He went up stairs to change, annoyed by the fact that an expensive shirt now had a large hole in the center of it. Blood rose in his face as he looked in the mirror. His nose perhaps didn't quite look the same. He flung himself into a chair and admitted he had lost this round for being stupid. Well, no matter. The little chip planted in Amanda's jacket would let him know soon enough. 

Darkness was beginning to fall upon Paris as the three drove through the city limits. They could not think of returning to their hotel rooms and Joe could not return to his flat, but they could go to the barge. A cold rain began to fall again as Joe unlocked the door with the key Duncan had given him. There was a distinct chill that made everyone uncomfortable. 

"I feel like we're intruding here," said Julia. 

"No, it's okay." Amanda tried to reassure her but she was unconvinced herself. The place seemed so empty. Some things had not been put up as Duncan had only expected to be away for a few days and they sat where he had left them, some pens and paper on a desk, the newspaper on the sofa, a sweater draped on the back of a chair. 

"Think I better make some phone calls," said Joe. "I want to check in, to see if MacLeod has made any contact." 

"I'd like to talk to Antonia, too, just to let her know," said Julia. 

Amanda stood to one of the portholes and peered into the twilight. She saw a car pull up on the other side of the quay. The headlights turned off and no one got out. She turned and faced Joe, who was still on the phone. "I've got a bad feeling," she said. 

* * *

_Burma –_

MacLeod unconsciously took a step back. "You killed those men for a piece of meat?" Fox stopped cutting the boar and stood up. Blood dripped from his hands. 

"They were the enemy. Two less to worry about. Besides, I knew them." 

"Oh, you knew them." 

Fox took a deep breath, becoming angry. "Yes, but you are an extraordinary man, MacLeod. What would an extraordinary man, an honorable man such as yourself, know about revenge? Huh?" There was no response. "They shot me up and then they made me beg for it, and then they..." Fox didn't finish his thought; he just spat on the ground. 

"I know it doesn't change anything," Duncan said quietly. 

"Like I said , Mac, it's two less to worry about." Fox bent down and continued his work. MacLeod watched him as he took his primitive blade and deftly drained the boar of blood and then cut it into pieces. He saw a man whose life experience began at the very dawn of the Bronze Age, a time when people still lived a Stone Age existence. Drawing comparisons and making judgements would simply not apply, Duncan decided, especially in light of the lessons he had learned from the brief encounters with Methos' older side. This person who Duncan thought he knew, this yuppie, suddenly became much more complex. The whole scene looked like some museum reenactment but it wasn't; it was real. 

"You couldn't get their guns?" Duncan inquired carefully. 

"No, I couldn't get their guns. I planned to but as I was coming back after I got the boar, I found they were surrounded by six other soldiers. I thought in that case, I should avoid any stunts. It's funny you thinking that once they were dead, then it's okay to get their weapons." 

"No, you're right. I'm sorry." 

"Accepted." 

Later, they moved everything to a safer place for the night and settled in. During the rest of the afternoon, Fox tried to use every part of the animal, so far as it was practical. He used the skin to make a pouch. He took bone and fashioned points; he wrapped sinew around his blade and his stick and made a spear. Then he found a good tree limb and turned it into a bow and used bamboo for arrow shafts. Keeping busy kept his mind from craving the drug. 

In the evening, Duncan bit in to a large section of meat, a bit on the gamey side, but a thankful change from the MREs. Afterwards, Fox took a tusk from the skull and bored a hole, strung it on a piece of rawhide, and gave it to Duncan. 

"Here," said Fox, "a souvenir of sorts." Duncan took it and placed the string over his head. The gesture seemed to mark the time the two had shared. Fox made one for himself. 

The next day saw more monsoon rains and progress was once again down to a crawl. 

"Mac, we can't be far from the border. I feel like I walked across the entire length of Asia." 

"Believe me, I know it. I don't think we're far. We need to stay near a path or the road since we don't have the machete. The problem with that is that we might be traveling out of our way some since the road might not go due east, but we can't get through all that jungle without a little help. We just have to be more particular." 

"What do you mean?" 

"You know, careful. More people will be on the roads than the way we have been going." 

"Of course. You know, if I had a sense of humor left, I'd laugh at all of this." 

"This sounds like a cue for me to break into song," said Duncan. "Hey, don't look at me like that!" 

"You're a damn Boy Scout, aren't you?" 

"I've been called worse." 

"I'd be crushed if I found out you weren't doing all of this, going through all of this, if not for totally altruistic reasons." 

"Fox, nobody could pay me enough," Duncan said as the rain streamed down his face. "Let's get going. Maybe we can make up some time." 

They found several paths. It was difficult know if they were on the right one. They tried to keep to the brush as much as possible and several times they were lucky when they were able to hide as soldiers and other travelers were spotted. They actually rounded by a village and could catch the smell of real food cooking. Nevertheless, they couldn't take the chance of stopping and inquiring where they were. 

Towards midday, they were making good progress when a young girl suddenly stepped out in front of them. She screamed loudly and forced Duncan and Fox to run off the road and into the jungle. They bolted right into a contingent of soldiers who gave chase. The two split up and rounded their way back to each other happy with themselves that they were able to elude the military. They heard some gunshots in the distance and decided to run just to be safe. Quickly, they made their way over a hill and down through a gully and over a small stream. The forest thickened again and the noise of the rain on the foliage practically drowned out all other sounds. Fox had been in the lead and kept going for a good long distance. He stopped to catch his breath and when he turned around Duncan was not there. 

_Oh, sweet Jesus,_ he thought. _What happened?_

* * *

_Paris –_

"Joe, come look." 

"Hang on," Joe said into the phone. "Okay, what am I suppose to see?" 

Amanda turned back and peered once again through the porthole. "There was a car; it just pulled up and stopped. Joe, nobody got out and now it's gone." 

"Amanda, they couldn't have found us, especially so fast." Joe went back to conclude his call and gave the phone to Julia. 

"You're just being a little paranoid. That's okay. Somebody _is_ after us," said Julia. 

"I recognized the car. It's one of Gannon's." 

"You're absolutely sure about this?" 

"Yeah, I am. Nothing on Duncan yet?" 

Joe shook his head. "There's been no sign since MacLeod busted Fox out of that slave labor camp." 

"Joe," said Amanda, "everything inside me says we need to leave here." 

Looking Amanda straight in the eye, he sized up the situation. He had to trust her instincts. There was a good reason for her to be as old as she is and to fly in the face of all that experience would be foolish. 

"Okay, let's go, but they could be watching us from a distance." 

"Ironic, ain't it?" Julia said to Joe, obviously amused. Joe caught the comment. 

"Yeah, ain't it. So how's Methos?" Joe asked as they walked out the door. 

"Antonia says he's about the same. She knows so much, Joe. I think he'd be gone by now if it wasn't for her." 

Amanda grabbed her jacket and slipped it on in the cool night air. Once outside on the deck, they looked around. All seemed quiet and as it should be. 

"So what do we do now?" asked Julia. 

"Let's just get into the car and go," said Amanda. 

"But go where? How about to Methos' place?" 

"No," said Joe, "let's save that as a last resort." 

"Listen," Joe said as they got back in the car, "Gannon _let_ us go. He wouldn't have done that unless he thought we would go right to Methos." 

"Then we can ride around for a while. They won't try to grab us," Julia said. 

On a nearby bridge that crossed the Seine, one of Gannon's men made a phone call. 

"So, you say that there are three of them?" asked Gannon. 

"Yes, sir, two women and the man without legs." 

"Two women and no Adam Pierson. You're quite sure?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Hmm. Check that boat and make sure you don't lose track of them." 

Gannon hung up and paced in his chateau. He was still kicking himself for allowing those two to get away. What had been a simple plan had now grown more complicated; more of his staff involved than had been before. More mouths to talk about how things having been going in the company, even though if all this blew up, their overseas labor problems, the pipeline, many would stand to lose their jobs. Perhaps even the company would go under. Gannon had worked too hard for too many years to lose it all because of a couple of worthless immortals like Fox and Pierson. All from underestimating the enemy. How stupid, he thought, how incredibly stupid. He had been just as stupid as Rowe had been when he underestimated his last opponent. He felt Rowe having a good laugh at him when all of a sudden the obvious hit him between the eyes. He grabbed the phone. 

"Call it off," yelled Gannon. "Tell everyone to go home. I know where Adam Pierson is. I'm going to take care of this myself." 

* * *

_Burma –_

"This can't be happening," Fox said to himself breathing hard. He stood and waited for Duncan to appear. The rain continued to pour down while lightning pounded the earth around him. He picked his feet up and began to walk east, at first slowly moving the brush out of the way with his spear. Then his paced picked up as desperation seemed to chase him. He caught himself and stopped. _Damn,_ he thought, _damn, I just want this nightmare to be over. I just want to go home. Why is that so much?_ When his breathing became regular, he closed his eyes and made a decision. He had to turn around and go back after this man who had risked and endured so much. Wobbly knees almost kept him from walking but he firmed his resolve, took a deep breath, and ran back. Sharp palm fronds whipped his face and tore at him as he sprinted. 

He ran this way for what seemed to be miles, occasionally tripping but pushing himself toward the last crossroads, hoping for a clue so that he could find his friend. Finally, he reached a place where there obviously had been some rough activity. On the ground lay the boar amulet Fox had given to Duncan. He quickly scooped it up and headed in the direction where the muddy tracks lay. Before he could take but a few steps, four heavily armed men set upon him, tripping him to the ground. Fox struggled as best he could but he was exhausted and could not get away. He yelled insults and curses at the men. One of them pleaded with Fox to be quiet, but Fox could not understand and continued his tirade. Finally, the one in charge looked at another of his companions in a disgusted manner and shrugged. A rifle butt smacked Fox in the face causing him to lose consciousness. 

Fox was dimly aware that someone had been examining the chain around his neck. He made an attempt to move but found he was sitting on the ground and tied up to a tree. Presently, a bucket of water was thrown on him and he moaned with the pain and recollection of what had happened to him. He rather resented being thrown into the daylight that way. His vision slowly cleared. 

Than sat in front of him cleaning the blood and dirt from his face. His left arm was held in a sling. When Fox could see enough, he spat at Than. A little startled but not surprised, Than wiped his face and continued to work on Fox. 

"You're not a man who keeps his feelings to himself, I see. I'm sorry to inconvenience you so, Fox, but you were not exactly cooperative." The polite formalities Than had observed with Duncan would be of no value in light of the fact that Fox was, with good reason, behaving like a trapped animal. 

"You betrayed me and your people. I hope you got what you wanted." 

"Fox, I did not betray anyone. You simply did not understand that the soldiers who brought you here were only trying to help you." Fox growled and struggled against the ropes holding him. 

"Help? This is your idea of help?" 

"I don't have the people to spare to nursemaid over you." 

"Where were you? Mac said you should have been with him to help." 

"I understand your confusion, but our technology failed us. Things went very wrong." 

Fox spied the Watcher tattoo on Than's wrist for the first time. "So do you get a bounty for each scalp you take, Watcher?" 

"Shut up for a minute, please." Than took a large pair of wire cutters and clipped the chain off Fox's neck. "There, now you must listen to me. We don't have the luxury of time." Than moved to untie Fox's hands. Fox took a quick look around to check the surroundings and saw two men behind him standing ready. Than helped him get to his feet. 

"Those are Karen soldiers, not the Burmese military. They are fighting for democracy, as am I." Fox looked at the soldiers again and decided he couldn't do anything about his current situation. He kicked at the chain on the ground. 

Than led Fox to a small hut and gave him some rice and vegetables. "Sorry it could not be more." 

Fox's temper mellowed as he ravenously ate and thought it wasn't bad at all, especially when his next meal could have been large insects. "Thank you," he said between mouthfuls. 

Than spread out a map on a makeshift table. "We are here," he pointed out. "And we think Duncan is being held in a small village just here. We picked you up near this spot. As you can see, we are two miles within the Thai border." 

"We crossed the border?" 

"You did but Duncan did not. He is still in Burma. We'll be going out after him in short while." 

"I must go, too." 

"You need to get back to Bangkok and take the first plane back to Paris. I understand that someone is in desperate need of your help. Only you have information that can save him." 

"Give me a phone. I can tell them what they need to know." 

"I won't have access to phone until we leave here and get to a larger village, maybe tomorrow." 

"Hey, then there's time. Let me go with you." 

Than thought for a moment. "Okay then, tell you what. Write it all down just in case you don't come back." 

"Oh, yeah....sure." 

* * *

Duncan tried to lift his head up but found it was too difficult. A Burmese soldier did it for him, said something, and then let it drop back. His arms had been stretched out and tied between two trees. His knees long ago had buckled under him, leaving him kneeling on the ground. Presently, a general with some pomp and a contingent of staff paraded into the small compound. He strode up to Duncan who became sickeningly aware that the man who stood in front of him was an immortal. The general said something unintelligible but with a few words in English, said the word "barbarian" to, Duncan who managed to look up sideways and smiled wickedly. The general took a step back. Then Duncan proceeded to address the general in Chinese, further astonishing him. He told the general that if he would but loosen the ropes, he would get a fight worthy of his rank to which the general replied in English with a broad smile and heavy accent, "Not bloody likely." 

The general ordered everyone from the enclosed compound area except his two personal guards posted outside the entrance, telling them that no matter what happened, no one was to enter until he came out. He sauntered up to Duncan, waving an old British cavalry sabre, taking a few practice swings. 

Out of view, the two guards fell to the ground as a pair of crude arrows silently pierced their chests and neck. The general suddenly stopped his activity when he felt the presence of another immortal close by. Soon he was met by the sight of a thin and tall man who appeared ridiculous in his torn and dirty rags. The intruder brandished his new machete. 

"I am Nagazwe," Fox said in his original language. "Son of Taulas, chief of the Iasi." 

The general laughed. He strode up to Fox and struck the first blow. Fox blocked and parried and with one blow of his long legs, hit the general in the stomach putting him on the ground. The general was no longer smiling. Fox moved in to finish him off but the general was quicker than Fox could have imagined and countered with an offensive move that made a deep cut on Fox's left forearm. This momentary setback allowed the general to thrust a blow to Fox's right shoulder, the length of the sabre having a distinct advantage. 

Now Fox switched his blade from right to left hand, spun around and delivered a blow to the center of the general, almost slicing him in two. The general dropped to the ground and Fox raised the machete and cut off the man's head. Soon the gathering storm fell into Fox and lit up the dark afternoon sky. Several tall palm trees were hit at the same time and the lightning danced around them. Just as quickly, the noise stopped. Fox picked himself up off the ground and went to Duncan, cutting the ropes from the trees. 

"Ach, Fox, you made it rain again," said Duncan as hung on to Fox's shoulder. 

"Lucky for you I did and not Marvin the Martian over there." 

"You done real good. I owe you one." 

"Naw, it was just that he was so bad. Now we're even." 

"No, really." Both Fox and Duncan stumbled together to the opposite end of the compound where Than had cut a hole into the fence. They both were a little giddy from fatigue as they approached. 

"Very soon, gentlemen, we hope to have you in better circumstances where you will be more comfortable," said Than as they fell through the hole. 

Duncan laughed and said, "I think that's Burmese for, 'You guys need a bath.'" 

Fox and Duncan looked at each other. "That should be our biggest problem," snickered Fox. 

"Come, come quickly, now. You can joke later," said Than. 

Soon, they were in the back of a truck asleep on the floor, on their way to Hua Hin, a lovely and popular beach resort where the King of Thailand and his family kept a private residence. Unfortunately, they could not stay and were quickly shuttled to a private plane that took them straight to Bangkok. 

* * *

_Paris –_

The gentle electronic ring of Joe's phone slowly roused him out of a light sleep. The sun leaned over the buildings of Paris and through the windshield. Joe was stiff and cold. 

"Yeah...MacLeod? Holy crow, it's good to hear your voice! Hey! It's Mac!" he said to the two women next to him still asleep in the car. "So what's the story? You got Fox?" 

"Yeah, Fox is right here," said Duncan. " We were very lucky. I'll tell you all about it. How's Methos?" 

"He's not getting any better but he's holding his own. Mac, you and Fox have got to get here." 

"You need to get Methos on a plane to Zagreb and meet us at a place called Plitvice Lakes National Park. It's about a two hour drive south." 

"Zagreb? I'm not even sure if we can get a direct flight and where's this other place?" 

"Plitvice National Park. It's also a tourist attraction. I don't think you'll have any problem finding it. Fox knows the exact spot called Sastavci." 

"That's great. We'll get to work." 

"So how you been?" asked Duncan. 

"Not too bad, all things considered. Right now I'm watching the sun come up over Paris with two beautiful women next to me." 

"Oh?" 

"Well, got to go. Time's wasting. Keep in touch, Mac." 

"Whoa..." 

Joe hung up the phone and turned to the ladies and said, "We got to go get him, hell or high water." Julia started the car and headed for the highway. 

* * *

_Bangkok –_

"We have a problem," said Than at the bottom of the stairs of the airplane. "Fox can't go. Not yet." 

"What's wrong, U Than?" asked Duncan. 

"You, Mr. Duncan, have your passport. Everything is in order there, but Mr. Ellery needs one and that will take a few days as we have to go through certain channels to get it now that it has been a few extra days since you were expected to be here." 

"You go ahead, Mac. I'll catch up." 

"No, I can't see leaving you here. I don't want anything else to go wrong. Bangkok can be a dangerous place." 

That evening, Duncan had the option of staying at a Buddhist monastery. A few days of rest, a little meditation, a few katas, it would put him right, center him, and make him feel better after his ordeal. He invited Fox to come along. Fox watched Duncan through a screen as he made a token gift to the abbot. Duncan carefully knelt down with his bare feet turned aside, cupped his right elbow with his left hand and presented the eminent monk some fruit and flowers with his right hand. 

After the ceremony, Duncan said. "Are you sure you won't stay here?" 

"I don't think so. Monasteries kind of creep me out." 

"This place is a far cry from a medieval cell." 

"And also strangely familiar, too. All these men dressed alike. No, thanks." 

By noon of the next day, Duncan had not seen or heard from Fox and thought down in his bones, something must be wrong. One of the young monks came to him and told Duncan where he could find Fox. Duncan immediately went out into the street, past shops and hotels until he came to what was a somewhat seedier side of town. He could feel the presence of the immortal within a small building and quickly, he pushed his way in. 

Fox was in the middle of making a deal with a pusher when Duncan slammed the packet from the dealer's hand with his sword. Everyone in the place scattered. Fox became enraged and pulled out a shiny new katana and held it menacingly before him. With a swift stroke, Duncan cleft the blade in two and dashed the hilt from Fox's hand. He grabbed Fox by the shirt collar and held his blade at Fox's throat. Fox closed his eyes. 

"If you _ever_ pull a sword on me, you be sure it's a real one, not some cheap wallhanger. I don't appreciate the insult and I'm not an executioner." He pulled Fox up and dragged him through the streets back to the monastery to an open room and threw him to the floor in the center of it. 

"I don't get it," said Duncan angrily. "All that time, not one word. Not one word of complaint from you! I knew how badly you were hurting and to throw it all away. Not now!" Duncan threw a bamboo practice sword down on the floor. 

"You want to fight me? Okay, here's your chance." 

"No." 

"So you are a coward after all." 

Duncan began to hit Fox smartly across the back with the bamboo. "You are a coward. A stupid, lazy coward." 

The feeling and the taunts reminded him too much of the soldiers at the labor camp. Fox grabbed the sword and with all of his energy began to fight Duncan. Despite his anger, Fox gave Duncan a bit of a challenge. He had good instincts and Duncan thought it true that Fox had once been a decent swordsman. Better than that, Fox had the will necessary to go on and Duncan was pleased. Finally, the rage got the better of Fox and he fumbled his next move, giving Duncan the round. Fox sat on the floor. He could not look Duncan in the eye. 

"No, you don't understand," whispered Fox. "The demons won't go away." 

"You can get past the drugs, Fox. I promise I'll be there to help." 

"It's just not that." 

"What then?" 

"What they did to me. What I _allowed_ them to do. What I asked, _begged_ for so that I could get the next fix. And then, I thank them for it, happily! Nothing I had ever experienced prepared me for this." 

Duncan gritted his teeth. It didn't take much imagination to get the picture. "Go and kill a hundred, two hundred and nothing changes. Kill yourself and they win." 

"I don't know...God..." said Fox despairingly. "Half in love with easeful death, you know?" 

"You are a strong person. You've proved that and you've done what you had to....to survive. Have your moment of self pity and when it's over, pick yourself up and move on." 

"It's that simple?" 

"Yes, it's that simple, damn it!" said Duncan angrily. "Consider the alternative; they win!" 

"You put up a hell of an argument, Mac." 

"I may be young, but I've had a few moments myself." 

"This isn't going to be easy." 

"What is?" 

"A couple of girls I knew once in London." 

"Ah, see, you're smiling. That's a good sign." 

Fox pleaded, "Help me, Mac." 

"If you're willing....we can do it." 

"What do I have to lose?" 

Fox knew without question that his sanity was on the line. At that point, he would have walked across hot coals if Duncan had asked him to do it. Instead, for the next two days, Duncan just worked the daylights out of him with the swords until Fox had achieved some degree of success. Gradually, he started to feel a little better about himself. Duncan knew that engaging Fox physically and mentally would help but there would still be a long way to go. 

"Always remember who you are," Duncan told him. 

* * *

_Brittany –_

Gannon sat in his car on the outskirts of Lanveneal drumming the steering wheel with his fingers. He dare not get closer to the house of Antonia lest she pick up his scent. He could not conceal his aura from her and she knew when he was around far in advance of any immortal he ever encountered. He felt sure that this is where Adam Pierson had to be. It wasn't until the phone call describing two women and a man without legs that he knew. The other woman had to be that immortal hanging around Pierson and now he could associate her with Antonia. Once again he cursed himself for not seeing the obvious. Now all he had to do was to get around Antonia. That was a problem. She told him once that she could turn him into dust if she so desired, a rather unappealing proposition. He believed her because he had seen her do fantastic things and he'd not want to put it to the test. 

A diversion....hmmm....a phone call to Antonia describing an accident. Yes, she was needed someplace else but would she leave? Well, give it a try. He would not kill Pierson, at least not here, not yet. Antonia's house stood on Holy Ground and even if Gannon did not like that rule, he would not violate that one. He would remove Pierson far from Brittany, get his information about Fox. When he was finished, he'd take his head but before he did that, he would make Pierson pay for all the trouble he had caused him. 

He drove along the road on the other side of town until he came upon a young boy walking with his dog. He stopped the car. The dog snarled. 

"Young man," he addressed the child in Bretagne, "do you know where Madame Antionne lives?" 

"Of course." 

"Please go to her house and tell her there has been a terrible accident near the railroad station and several people are asking for her. Would you do that? I need to get to the hospital." 

"Right away." 

  
"Methos," called Julia, "I'll be right back." Antonia jumped into her car and off she went. Methos had sat in the stillness for about ten minutes, counting Antonia's knick-knacks scattered around the house from his chair in the parlor. He listened to the gentle ticking of the clock as it struck one P.M. He could feel something change as if there was a difference in the air pressure. He thought it might be Julia but then his anticipation turned to horror as Gannon kicked open the door with sword in hand. 

Methos could offer no resistance as Gannon grabbed his shirt and pulled him up and out the front door. 

"What the hell is wrong with you? Walk, you son of a bitch." 

"Look at me, you moron. Look! 

"You look different. So what?" 

"I'm dying." 

"Yeah, right. You're going to die when I say you do. We have to get going. Now move." He pushed Methos along the drive but before he could get to the car, Joe, Amanda, and Julia pulled up. Gannon swung around and held his sword at Methos' throat. 

"Don't move or he is dead, right now." 

"Then you will be, too," said Amanda. 

"What if I told you I didn't care, not at this point?" 

"You are bluffing." 

"Maybe, but then you'll find out the hard way. I'll take my chances. Will you?" 

At that moment, Antonia pulled up. "Gannon! What do you think you are doing?" 

He was now in a corner. With Antonia there, he knew he could not win, yet he tried. 

"I will cut him before you can do anything, Antonia!" He sidled away slowly dragging Methos farther from Holy Ground. 

"If you kill him, you will not get his quickening, Gannon. You will only turn to dust. He is no longer an ordinary immortal. He is dying. It will no longer work. If you don't let go of him, you will get his disease if you already haven't contracted it." 

"I don't believe you!" 

"Jonathan, when have I ever lied to you!" 

Gannon was already near his car. He was confused and let Methos drop to the ground. He got in and took off. 

"Is that true, Antonia?" asked Julia as she bent down over Methos. 

"No, and I feel badly." 

They helped Methos up and back into the house. His hair was now almost completely silver. They sat Methos down upon the sofa. "I'm so tired," was all he could say. 

As Methos watched, there was some quiet conversation, a whisper, a bit of movement around the house, a few bags packed, and within ten minutes they were all back on the road headed for Orly. 

"Hang on," said Joe, "please." Methos managed a smile. 

* * *

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapters 7 & 8   
Author's Notes 

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

12/16/2000 

* * *


	7. The Price of the Heart: Chapter 7

The Price of the Heart Chapters 7 & 8 by DeborahC

_The Price of the Heart_

By Deborah D. Charlow 

* * *

**_Chapter 7_**

_"Old friends are the worst. They claim more of your soul."_

He softly and lightly fell in and out of consciousness. The pain in his chest and his knee was no longer a problem. He drifted over lost memories, people and places, favorite possessions, dogs, swords, Mannerist paintings. A whiteness seemed to fill the cabin of the plane. Julia cradled him and caressed him. She spoke to him in rhyming Etruscan, filling his head with an ancient music. He could have easily let go. 

Joe would come near every now and then and give him a sharp smack on his cheek or shake him to keep him from putting the other foot in the Elysian Fields. "Hey, get back here, " he said. The tedious trip, the stopover in Vienna, customs, wheelchair, another car, another long ride to Plitvice, then finally the bumpy ride up the steep hill where they all came together. MacLeod and Fox were standing at the rise waiting. 

Methos opened his eyes and focused on the late afternoon scene, everyone so solemn and quiet. He smiled and surveyed the scene below. A dozen or more rivulets fell meters below into the last of the chain of emerald and turquoise lakes surrounded by mountains and fir trees. The Duncan and Fox picked him up out of the wheelchair for the climb down to the water. A wave of unexplained terror fell over him. He remembered the last time he took a step toward that lake. He jerked back and they almost lost their grasp on him. 

"Something is wrong," he said. 

"No, it's alright now. Everything will be okay," said Amanda. 

Antonia looked up at Joe and whispered, "He's here. Gannon is here. I feel him." 

They reached the bottom of the path with Julia and Amanda helping Joe walk down to the edge of the lake. Fox pointed to a place beyond a little circle of trees and the tops of two standing stones that could easily be missed. 

"It's there; you see it?" 

"You are sure of this?" asked Duncan. 

"Yes, I know it well. The place has changed, a lot. All of these lakes weren't even here when I was a child but those stones have sitting there since the beginning. If you dig down about twelve feet, you'll probably find what's left of the village. 

"So this is the place," said Methos barely above a whisper. 

"Yes," said Fox. "This is where you were born." 

Methos turned to Duncan. "If this doesn't work, I will hold you to your promise." 

The color drained from Duncan's face. He had almost forgotten. "What? Here, now?" 

"Why not? This is a good place and a good day to die." 

Duncan took a deep breath and silently screamed at the prospect. Supporting Methos, he and Fox started to walk over toward the spot when Antonia stopped them. 

"This is women's work. You stay here. Amanda, Julia, come." 

The two women shouldered Methos as Antonia walked behind and they disappeared beyond the trees away from sight. Duncan could not help but be struck by this picture of the three women with the wounded soldier in their care taking him to Avalon or some other mythical place. It was all not so storybook-like now. The moment was not wasted on Joe either, and he glanced at Duncan. To Fox, it all seemed very natural. 

The women took Methos into the ice cold water until they were waist high. Antonia chanted something that none of them understood and then she told them what to do. 

"Dip him under," she said. "Now hold him there until he is not struggling." This took but a few moments. 

They brought him up and he coughed and sputtered. Before he could say anything, Antonia said, "Again." 

It took longer and it was harder to keep him down. He gasped for air as they brought him up. "Again!" 

There was a flash of light seen only by the men in the distance. Methos tore loose from the grip of the women and stood up. 

"No! No more. You're drowning me!" He stopped and looked at himself. Everyone held their breath. Suddenly there was screaming and yelling, tears and laughter. He was whole again. 

Duncan, Joe and Fox heard the commotion and could not contain their agitation. A moment later, Methos came running up the path and dove straight at Duncan and Fox, knocking them both to the ground. They rolled around on the ground like little boys until they were dirty and muddy. Methos jumped up and grabbed Joe and kissed him. "Geez, Methos!" 

"Thank you, Joe. Thank you, thank you. Everyone!" A good laugh and a good cry were had by all. Methos' hair was still silver but Antonia told him it would grow out, at least she thought so. A group of hikers came by but quickly decided to walk in another direction. 

  
Later, in a little hotel at dinner, Methos stood up and offered a toast. "To my family, to life." They had a wonderful meal with delicious Croatian wine. The waiter came by the table and sang old songs and everyone totally enjoyed their happiness. Just the same, Methos could not help but notice what seemed to be stolen glances between Fox and Julia. Their eyes met but they quickly looked away. 

Julia spent the night with Methos for the first time. As it turned out, it was not the grand night of passion that it should have been. Both had too much wine and sleeping seemed more seductive for the moment. During the night, Julia got up to find the only bathroom on the floor. As she was coming back, she ran into a chair as she rounded a corner. Fox was just on the other side when Julia sat down to rub her foot. Fox saw what had happened and knelt down on one knee to take a look out of politeness. 

"It's fine," she said. 

He placed his hand upon her ankle and she became a mass of goosebumps and caught her breath. He yanked his hand away. 

"I've got to go," she said. 

"Yeah, me too." 

Methos saw all this at the end of the hall and when Julia came back, he was in bed and pretended to be asleep. The next morning came swiftly and they were all on a plane once again to Paris. 

Going through customs, Fox talked to Duncan. He needed a place to stay and Duncan offered his couch at the barge. The conversation continued. 

"Mac, what do you know about Julia?" 

"I really can't tell you much. You should ask Methos. Why? 

"I can't take my eyes off of her. I get dizzy when she gets near." 

"Oh?" 

"I haven't been affected by a woman like that in half a century." 

"Definitely sounds serious. But...." 

"I know, I know." 

"I was going to say, have you spoken to her yet?" 

"I couldn't do that. I can't even think about it. I made Methos suffer enough." 

"That was so long ago. Allow yourself some absolution. Give Methos the benefit of the doubt. He can be very generous." 

"Well, there is nothing I can do about Julia now and I won't betray Methos. That's the last thing I would ever do." 

Duncan looked at him and sternly. In his experience, such statements seemed always to lead to trouble. 

After they arrived in the Paris, Antonia grew more uncomfortable. She knew that Gannon was still lurking off to the side somewhere and she confided in Joe and Duncan one more time. 

"We'll just have to keep our guard up," said Duncan. "What else can we do until he makes a move, if he makes a move." 

"Duncan," said Antonia, "I know him too well. Once he gets an idea, he is like a dog with a bone. He is fearful and he won't rest until till he thinks he is safe. Fox and Methos are still a threat to him. He has a lot to lose." 

Another dinner was planned for that evening with everyone invited and then Methos thought he would tear away to some place where he could satisfy his need to feel life again. Perhaps Julia might go with him but maybe it was just as well if she didn't. It was beginning to dawn on him that perhaps trying to own her, even just a little part of her would not be possible. Time to let all this crap go finally. Still, he needed to work on this thought some more. So much had happened recently, so much to think about. Barely a conscious thought was the sight of Fox and Julia regarding each other like awkward teenagers. It annoyed him slightly in the back of his mind. 

He was alone in his little apartment and had just finished showering. In the dimness of his bedroom, he stood half dressed and stared at himself in the mirror. A few beads of water along his shoulders sparkled in the backlighting coming from the bathroom. Lean, long, well-defined muscles, a clean silhouette reflected back. He found it difficult to believe that he had been so wracked with sickness just the day before. Now he looked at a very healthy man and the whole experience was just about to overwhelm him in private moment. 

Without a second notice, he felt the unmistakable presence of another immortal and heard a knock at the door. Throwing on a tee shirt and collecting himself, he walked down the long hallway toward the front door grabbing a sword from an umbrella stand. He thought it was probably Amanda or Duncan coming to get him, but it was still too early. When he got to the peephole, no one was there. He cautiously opened the door. All was quiet until Gannon stepped into view and laughed. Methos poised his sword and Gannon teased him but a single step out into the front courtyard. Methos raised his weapon and as he did two of Gannon's men stepped in from the side, disarmed him, and dragged him back into his flat where they held him on the floor. Gannon entered and softly closed the door behind him still laughing. 

* * *

Amanda and Julia were sitting cross-legged on the sofa in a small flat that Amanda kept in Paris. Lounging back, Amanda smiled. 

"So after all this time, how was it?" 

Julia pursed her lips and said, "No fireworks, I will tell you that much. I guess it was never right to begin with. I should have trusted my instincts." 

"Then why didn't you?" 

"I thought that I _should._ " 

Amanda looked just a little puzzled. "Run that by me again." 

"I thought it would have done him some good. You know, boosted his spirits or his ego." 

"Julia, you take this mothering instinct a little too far sometimes." 

"You think that is what it is?" 

"Absolutely. It's hard not to with him being so sick and puppy dog helpless. But maybe there was a good reason the both of you never got that far in the old days. It was more of a level playing field that way and then of course, you always had the upper hand and I'm guessing he knew it well." 

Julia sighed. "I think you are right." 

"And I'm sure he didn't want to be your boy toy, so to speak." 

"No, and Publius would have handed him his head in a second if he thought otherwise. Publius and I had our separate arrangements but it was always out of town and the less Publius knew about it, the better he liked it. Having a slave in his own house cuckolding him would have been intolerable." 

"Roman practicality," Amanda declared. 

"Yeah, really. Hey, what do you know about Ellery Fox?" 

"Nothing, myself. But Duncan said he is a good guy. Had a really difficult time in Burma, though. Why?" 

"I can't take my eyes off of him!" 

"Oh? Well, he certainly is attractive but.... Okay, why not. You go, girl!" 

"No!" moaned Julia. "I can't do that to Methos. He still needs me." 

"Julia!" said Amanda exasperated, "Listen to yourself." 

"No, Amanda, the time isn't right. Not yet. I can't abandon him. I have a chance to try and fix things." 

"You know whatever it is just may not be broken. Julia, talk to Methos. Find out what he expects or wants or thinks he wants. It might be totally different." 

"You are very wise." 

"Really?" 

"Yes, but I want time to make things up to him. I have to." 

* * *

Methos lay fighting against the hold of the two men pinning him to the floor. Both of them were very large. Gannon sat in a chair and looked down on him. 

"You know I'm very surprised that little trick worked, allowing my presence to be felt. Ha! I thought it was a long shot. I guessed right, though. I was the last person you expected to see. Now I want you to know just how hard it has been to track you and Mr. Fox all over the globe. I've had to use tons of people and man-hours. Mr. Pierson, you have been a royal pain in the ass and I don't say that just to anyone." 

"Why? I'm no threat to you." 

"Don't underestimate yourself. You are now and certainly Mr. Fox could cause an international incident." 

"You're going to have to kill a lot more than just me and Fox. You'll mess up." 

"We'll see about that." 

"Let me up and let's settle this." 

"Nah, I don't think so. I have other plans. You know I had quite a long talk with Dr. Gray before I took his head. Seems he mistakenly thought I would spare him and I found out all about you. You have led an interesting, not to mention long, life. He also told me how well you took to hypnotic suggestion. I have a little plan in mind." 

Gannon pulled out a box, opened it and held a small syringe up for Methos to see. "Do you know what this is?" Gannon asked. 

"Gannon, don't." 

"This, my soon to be fuzzy friend, is a plant derived scopolamine or Burundanga , sometimes it has some interesting uses. I understand it come from Columbia." 

"Gannon, please." 

"Hold his arm down, Roy. Now don't worry, Adam. I've had practice at this." 

Methos stared at the ceiling as the fluid pushed into his vein. "I have to hold on," he told himself but the drug took effect swiftly. Methos felt slightly woozy. They stood him up and shoved him over to the mirror in his room. 

"Look at yourself. You are old and all worn out. You are tired and you have no real friends. They all betrayed you!" 

"No, that's not so." 

The drug slowly wandered into his brain and left him wide open. The difference was that he had a choice with Dr. Gray. No one can be hypnotized unless they want to be. This drug left him no options. 

"Adam, they laugh at you be behind your back, especially that woman, the one who Dr. Gray told me had you crucified. She had you _crucified,_ remember?" He eased around behind Methos and held out the immortal's arms. Gannon whispered in his ear, "Look, Adam, see where the ropes were. The marks are still there. _She did this to you!_ Does she love you, Adam? Or does she have a lover?" 

Methos swung away and lost his balance falling to the floor. Gannon sat next to him pulling him upright. 

"And," Gannon continued relentlessly, "there's Athos, the one with the whip, your enemy, your sworn, mortal enemy. That's Ellery Fox, isn't it? He's had a good laugh, too. Weren't he and Julia from the same town? And now, they are together again? What do you think is going on between them?" Methos could recall the looks that had passed between them. 

"Didn't he own you, too? How long did you slave in that mine, fester in that depravity? How many times did he beat you, humiliate you?" 

"Oh, Jesus. I don't know." 

"You know what needs to be done, both of them. They won't hurt you anymore, Adam. You will finally and truly be free." 

Methos was overcome. He thought about how it would have been so easy to die before and now it seemed a lost opportunity. He sobbed out loud. The past few days came crashing down around him and in this haze everything was all so confused. 

"Now, Adam, you mustn't feel so sad. This is a new beginning. You are looking for justice. Be strong and do the right thing. Get dressed and start your evening. Be gracious, smile, laugh, but when the time is right, do what you need to do and take their heads. I'll be there for you, waiting. I'll take a look at your portfolio and we can talk business." 

* * *

Duncan had wanted to try out a new restaurant in the suburbs of Paris, a large place with many private rooms and several bars. He reserved a spot and they had a fine time that lasted well into the night. Everyone noticed that Methos seemed unusually talkative, but nothing could have surprised them considering everything that had happened. Antonia would be returning to Brittany the next day and Julia would finally see her daughter in Brussels. Fox would remain with Duncan until they could figure something out. The time flew by and it became very late. Most of the restaurant staff had left for the night with only the main bar remaining open. 

As the evening drew to a close, Antonia excused herself from the table. She stopped by the bar because she was the only one who knew Gannon had been in there for most of the evening. 

"Come here," she said, "I want to talk to you!" 

They walked into one of the empty banquet rooms bordered by large windows and then out a side door which opened on to a deserted courtyard garden. Decorative lights lit the pretty space and a fountain still bubbled. Just beyond an open area lay a trimmed forest flanked by allees. 

"Madame, I do not welcome your interference." 

"God knows, Jonathan, I have tried to teach you right from wrong and every time I think I might have got close, you screw it up." 

"I have a company to run. There are many people who stand to lose their jobs, many other businesses will be affected if what Fox knows gets out." 

"So your only solution is to what?" 

"I can't allow anyone to get in the way." 

"How gloriously unselfish you are. Jobs, businesses. You know you can't fool me." 

Blood seemed to be rising in his face. He was becoming angry. 

"No, I know that, but I can't allow everything to go under. All it takes is one little incident and it will all start to go. It will be the end of everything." He thought of Methos and Fox sitting in the restaurant and rather than chance Methos killing Fox, he thought he would do it himself especially now that Antonia is standing before him giving him a hard time. 

He grasped his sword, pulling it from his hiding place. He wasn't thinking too clearly himself as he had been drinking. He swung around and pushed Antonia out of his way but she grabbed and pulled on his jacket as he went around her once more. This pass, he lost his footing and fell over a small garden ornament. Antonia tried to push him up but when she did so, he fell forward and angrily tried to shove her away only to have his blade run forward and in an awful moment, stab her in the heart. 

"You fool," she whispered. "You don't know what you have done." 

At that moment, Julia came out the door and stood horrified. Gannon had his back to her, never feeling her presence in the least; all his attention was on Antonia as she fell to the wet ground. A wind seemed to gather at the spot and a thousand moaning voices filled the air. Lightning flashed in the distance. Gannon was overcome and fell to his knees. A huge gust seemed to lift him up and he turned, prepared to run as fast as he could, but he ran straight into Julia's sword. 

The wind howled as Julia yanked it out with a twist. Gannon raised his and delivered several blows and thrusts with great speed and force despite his wound. The battle moved away from the building over near a grove of trees. One blow upon the other but Julia did not tire. She kept on, more agile, graced with a sudden strength that surprised even her. Evading Gannon's cutting edge, she parried and slipped under his blade as it sliced through empty air and delivered a deadly blow to his chest. She flipped his sword into the night as hers came crashing down at his neck. 

The wind became even more violent as it mourned the loss of the Ancient One. Pale figures seemed to rush about in confusion and then the quickening gathered and crashed into the woman. The whole event was but a few seconds though it lasted an eternity for Julia until it released her. She stumbled her way back into the building in a torrent of tears but became lost in the maze of rooms. 

Meanwhile at the dinner table, Fox got up and went to look around the building, just to see what the rest of restaurant looked liked when he noticed the change taking place outside. Not long, he found the outside door. No one was in sight but the commotion occurring on the other side caught his attention. Fox stepped out into the garden with his sword drawn as the wind whipped around him. Then he saw Antonia, looking like she had fallen asleep and bent down over her and gently felt the side of her neck for a pulse but he already knew. At that moment, Methos burst through the door. 

Still under the putrid influence of Gannon's suggestions, Methos raised his sword. 

"What did you do, _boy!_ What did she ever do to you?" 

"Methos, please! I didn't do this!" 

"Who else? Hell! You are the enemy. What better way to get to me than by killing her! She was like a mother to me. The mother an animal like you ripped from me once before. You will die for this and for every stripe you put on my back. For every time you and Julia rolled in the sack and then laughed at my pain. 

"Methos, I deserve your hatred a thousand times over but I didn't do this and I didn't even know Julia before yesterday!" 

Methos growled and advanced and swung. Fox parried and blocked using only defensive motions. He retreated until Methos backed him into a corner. A few inches away, Methos held his sword ready to thrust. 

"It seems there is no other way," said Fox, not posing a question but issuing a statement. 

"There can be only one." 

"Game be damned!" Fox opened his arms wide and received the blow fully into his chest. He grabbed Methos' right arm as his own sword slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground. At this moment, Julia appeared with Duncan, Joe and Amanda not far behind. Seeing Methos deliver the wound, Julia screamed hysterically. Fox buckled to his knees and collapsed to the ground. 

"It's alright, Julia," Fox barely managed to say hoarsely. He coughed blood. 

"Methos!" screamed Julia. "I'll _do_ whatever you want. _Be_ whatever you want!" 

"Too late, my Lady. You should have thought of that two thousand years ago." 

"Methos!" cried Duncan. "No, don't!" 

"So help me, Duncan, that whore is my enemy as well as he is. They used me, tortured me. I can have no peace until they pay." 

"Peace is the last thing you'll get. This is crazy, Methos. You're not making any sense. Fox is your friend. He saved your life. He went through hell to get back here, only for you." 

Methos raised his sword as Fox glanced upward looking into Methos' eyes and met only a cold, vacant stare. Methos started to shift and appeared a little disoriented. 

Joe slowly and carefully walked up to Methos. "Look, buddy. I understand how you feel." 

"You do, Joe?" 

"Hell, yeah. We're going to talk this over right now over a nice cold beer or how about a little Scotch?" Joe carefully manipulated the weapon from Methos' hand and with the smoothest of movement, passed it to Duncan. "Come on now and let's go in. It's a little nippy for my old bones out here." 

"Sure, Joe." 

Amanda cautiously followed glancing back at Duncan with wide eyes. Julia fell into Duncan arms and she squeezed him tightly as she sobbed. Then they walked over to Fox. 

* * *

**_Chapter 8_**

_"And we all have mistakes to forgive."_

In the early morning light, several days later, Methos moved restlessly around the barge. Duncan would not let him out of his sight. The insidious effects of the drug had long worn off and although an ordinary mortal would forget the previous night's events, Methos could remember everything that had happened in sharp detail. The thought of losing Antonia was devastating. He begged Duncan to tell him what occurred in Burma but Duncan hesitated. Finally, he gave in and Methos sat silently absorbing the facts. 

"Shall I go on?" asked Duncan. 

"Of course." 

"But I don't think it's necessary." 

"MacLeod, I don't need to be spared. This is my problem, mine to own." 

"You can afford yourself a little leeway. You weren't responsible." 

"I would have never have said those things if they were still not in my heart, Duncan." 

"That's the rub, Methos. It doesn't matter how well you love or how much you hate. The heart will always come after what it's owed." 

"I should know better by now." 

"You are just another member of the club." 

"So what are you saying? We're doomed to constantly screw up? There's no hope?" 

"Hope? There's always hope." 

"Right. A double edged sword as I've come to know very well." 

"What goes around, Methos, what goes around." 

Joe walked up to the barge as Duncan met him outside. Julia and Fox followed. Methos saw them through a porthole and thought about escaping. He couldn't bear to have them look at him. 

"So where is he?" asked Joe. 

"Inside, beating himself up," said Duncan. "Tell me something. How did you know he wouldn't whack you?" 

"I didn't, but then he's never seen me as a threat. I've taken some chances before, dealing with immortals. After a while, you start to figure them out," said Joe with a slight twinkle in his eye and a bit of a smirk. 

Joe turned to Fox and Julia. "Are you ready for this? You don't have to see him." 

"After this entire mess, how could I leave now?" said Fox. "This little adventure was my choice at the start and I need to finish it, for him and me." 

Methos sat leaning against the edge of a table with his back to the door. He held his eyes down on the floor. 

"Methos?" called Fox. 

He didn't turn around. "What can I say?" 

"Say you're sorry, then I'll say I'm sorry." 

"Will that work?" 

"What's the alternative, Methos?" 

Methos turned around. "I don't know," he said quietly. 

"What?" demanded Fox loudly. 

"I don't know. I don't have any answers!" 

"I know. I know real well. Gannon wins. He'll take our heads from beyond the grave." 

"You're right," said Methos. 

"Damn straight." 

"I'm sorry, Fox." 

"I am sorry, Methos." 

They hugged and slapped each other on the back. Methos quickly turned and grabbed Julia and she found herself being kissed by the two men on each cheek. 

"We'll see what another day brings to us," said Methos. 

Outside Joe and Duncan waited. Amanda came running lightly up to them. 

"So what's up?" asked Duncan. 

"I'm taking Methos out for a little R & R." 

"Really? And where might that be?" 

"Nowhere special. Monte Carlo. You hoo, Methos! Hi, guys." 

The three were coming out on deck and she ran up onto the barge. 

"Amanda! Where?" 

"You heard me," she called over her shoulder. "It'll be just what he needs." 

Julia would go to Brussels for a few days and Fox could not wait to get back home. His garden would be a mess by now. The pair would catch up with each other over lunch within a week to try out this new relationship they found. Although it would not be easy, Julia would be just the person Fox needed in his life right now to help him get his bearings once again. Methos and Amanda would spend a few days on the French Riviera where Amanda could smell the jewelry and Methos could rub elbows with the good life. Then, Methos took off for a few months. Rumor had it he went to a little island in the Aegean Sea and then reappeared in Paris to haunt MacLeod's refrigerator. 

"Mac, grab your tools and a broom," said Joe. 

"What do you have in mind?" 

Joe put his hand on Duncan's shoulder and started to lead him toward Duncan's car. 

"There's this little mess I need some help with. I got to build a new bar." 

"It's going to take more than a broom, Joe." 

"Yeah, while we're out we can rent a dump truck." 

"What am I getting into here?" 

"Oh, we'll need a little survey work and a big old backhoe, and some nails and lumber, and......" 

"Half my life's in book's written pages   
Lived and learned from fools and from sages   
You know it's true   
All these things, come back to you. 

Dream on,   
Dream until your dream comes true."* 

|   
---|---  
| 

  
*Aerosmith   
_Dream On_  
  
* * *

**Author's Notes**

This story has taken up more than a year of my life but I've had the most wonderful time living with these characters and researching the background information. It started as an attempt to squeeze out one more episode after the finish of the sixth season and to answer some questions in my own mind about some of the characters which I would never see answered on TV. Things just grew from that point and the plot just sort of followed its own course and most of the time I felt like I was just there for the ride. 

I have tried to make the factual information as accurate as I possibly could with my limited resources. Finding information on the Middle Period of the Roman Republic, Late Neolithic and Early Bronze Age Periods in Croatia, and contemporary information on Croatia itself as well as Burma or Myanmar proved to be tremendously difficult and frustrating at times but I loved every second of it. There are a few instances where I had to be content with some educated speculation which I believe to be reasonable. 

Some of the best episodes of _Highlander,_ I think, were ones which involved social issues. Finding one for my story turned out to be providential. I was in the car coming home from grocery shopping one afternoon listening to NPR's "All Things Considered" when Daniel Zwerdling began to describe conditions under which Burmese citizens were forced to work on the Yadana Natural Gas Pipeline Project without any compensation and were often beaten to death in the process. Since I had already decided to write about Methos' experience with slavery, I was excited to be able to explore this contemporary aspect. What I found was horrifying. 

Jonathan Gannon's oil company is actually based on Unocal Corporation and a French oil company called Totale which have been constructing a pipeline into the Tenesserrim Division of Burma using forced labor in cooperation with the military government. Both Unocal and Totale have denied any knowledge of this practice. In fact, law suits have been brought against Unocal by former workers in an attempt to claim compensation. These suits were dismissed as not having enough relevant evidence. I invite the readers to decide for themselves if the position taken by Unocal is reasonable in light of the available information. 

Here are several sites. The original story that peaked my interest can be found at http://search.npr.org/cf/cmn/cmnvs03fm.cfm Click on #7 Unocal. For background information about Burma's social and political problems go to www.ibiblio.org/freeburma/. To be fair, one may read about Unocal's position at http://www.unocal.com and an interesting visit to http://www.myanmar.com is worthwhile to see how the Myanmar government, The State Peace and Development Council, advertises itself. Personally, I found it to be a little scary. 

I certainly dug up much more information than I was able to use in the story. If two people such as MacLeod and Fox were actually thrown into such a situation in Burma for real, I have my doubts if they would have made it out, immortal or not. I had, in fact, made their adventure easier on them than it would have been in real life. The whole picture of Burma is indeed a sad one. This country seems to be a lovely, exotic place filled with a fascinating and ancient culture and a wonderful people. Myanmar's terrible record of human rights violations and the government's cooperation with illegal drug trade is an established fact. The next time anyone bemoans the drug problem in the US, I would ask them to think about the many US companies that do business with Myanmar. I had read that as much as 80% of their national budget goes to the military who indeed support the drug trade for personal profit, not the Burmese people. There is an interesting movie called _Beyond Rangoon,_ staring Patricia Arquette. Although it received some rather bad reviews, I believe it is fairly accurate in its description of the situation in Burma as the facts seem to parallel my research. And, I didn't think it was as bad as the critics said. 

On a lighter note, if anyone is interested, they may view a picture of Plitvice Lakes at http://www.archaeology.net/plitvice/index.html and http://www.htz.hr/UNESCO_heritage.htm#plitvice. Using Croatia as the birthplace for Methos was random as I have an e-mail buddy who lives there. I found out that it is a beautiful country and initially that was as good as reason as any. As I began to dig, I found that the location and the history just happened to work out very well. Also, to see the standing stone in Antonia's backyard, go to http://www.stonepages.com/france/france.html. Click Lanveneal. This is a nifty site. 

I hope anyone who has read this far has enjoyed my story. I welcome any comments. For a complete bibliography, write to me. Lastly, I would like to thank my two sons for all their military expertise, my friend Nena in Croatia, Forumlander cc,R.N., Charles Dick, Asso. Professor of Biology, and my very good friend, DahlHalla for all her patience and encouragement. 

* * *

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |Chapter 6 | Chapters 7 & 8   
Author's Notes 

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

12/16/2000 

* * *


	8. The Price of the Heart: Author's Notes

The Price of the Heart - Author's Notes

_The Price of the Heart_

_Author's Notes_

By Deborah D. Charlow 

This story has taken up more than a year of my life but I've had the most wonderful time living with these characters and researching the background information. It started as an attempt to squeeze out one more episode after the finish of the sixth season and to answer some questions in my own mind about some of the characters which I would never see answered on TV. Things just grew from that point and the plot just sort of followed its own course and most of the time I felt like I was just there for the ride. 

I have tried to make the factual information as accurate as I possibly could with my limited resources. Finding information on the Middle Period of the Roman Republic, Late Neolithic and Early Bronze Age Periods in Croatia, and contemporary information on Croatia itself as well as Burma or Myanmar proved to be tremendously difficult and frustrating at times but I loved every second of it. There are a few instances where I had to be content with some educated speculation which I believe to be reasonable. 

Some of the best episodes of _Highlander,_ I think, were ones which involved social issues. Finding one for my story turned out to be providential. I was in the car coming home from grocery shopping one afternoon listening to NPR's "All Things Considered" when Daniel Zwerdling began to describe conditions under which Burmese citizens were forced to work on the Yadana Natural Gas Pipeline Project without any compensation and were often beaten to death in the process. Since I had already decided to write about Methos' experience with slavery, I was excited to be able to explore this contemporary aspect. What I found was horrifying. 

Jonathan Gannon's oil company is actually based on Unocal Corporation and a French oil company called Totale which have been constructing a pipeline into the Tenesserrim Division of Burma using forced labor in cooperation with the military government. Both Unocal and Totale have denied any knowledge of this practice. In fact, law suits have been brought against Unocal by former workers in an attempt to claim compensation. These suits were dismissed as not having enough relevant evidence. I invite the readers to decide for themselves if the position taken by Unocal is reasonable in light of the available information. 

Here are several sites. The original story that peaked my interest can be found at http://search.npr.org/cf/cmn/cmnvs03fm.cfm Click on #7 Unocal. For background information about Burma's social and political problems go to www.ibiblio.org/freeburma/. To be fair, one may read about Unocal's position at http://www.unocal.com and an interesting visit to http://www.myanmar.com is worthwhile to see how the Myanmar government, The State Peace and Development Council, advertises itself. Personally, I found it to be a little scary. 

I certainly dug up much more information than I was able to use in the story. If two people such as MacLeod and Fox were actually thrown into such a situation in Burma for real, I have my doubts if they would have made it out, immortal or not. I had, in fact, made their adventure easier on them than it would have been in real life. The whole picture of Burma is indeed a sad one. This country seems to be a lovely, exotic place filled with a fascinating and ancient culture and a wonderful people. Myanmar's terrible record of human rights violations and the government's cooperation with illegal drug trade is an established fact. The next time anyone bemoans the drug problem in the US, I would ask them to think about the many US companies that do business with Myanmar. I had read that as much as 80% of their national budget goes to the military who indeed support the drug trade for personal profit, not the Burmese people. There is an interesting movie called _Beyond Rangoon,_ staring Patricia Arquette. Although it received some rather bad reviews, I believe it is fairly accurate in its description of the situation in Burma as the facts seem to parallel my research. And, I didn't think it was as bad as the critics said. 

On a lighter note, if anyone is interested, they may view a picture of Plitvice Lakes at http://www.archaeology.net/plitvice/index.html and http://www.htz.hr/UNESCO_heritage.htm#plitvice. Using Croatia as the birthplace for Methos was random as I have an e-mail buddy who lives there. I found out that it is a beautiful country and initially that was as good as reason as any. As I began to dig, I found that the location and the history just happened to work out very well. Also, to see the standing stone in Antonia's backyard, go to http://www.stonepages.com/france/france.html. Click Lanveneal. This is a nifty site. 

I hope anyone who has read this far has enjoyed my story. I welcome any comments. For a complete bibliography, write to me. Lastly, I would like to thank my two sons for all their military expertise, my friend Nena in Croatia, Forumlander cc,R.N., Charles Dick, Asso. Professor of Biology, and my very good friend, DahlHalla for all her patience and encouragement. 

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Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapters 7 & 8 

© 2000   
Please send comments to the author! 

Background by Daire 

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